Waking
by Breathe Artistic
Summary: Sequel to Let Me Sleep. Bucky is defrosted in Wakanda earlier than expected. Steve's ready to bring him home and now Bucky must adjust to life in his own mind and all the memories that come along with it.
1. No Agendas

Hi, okay, so no, I have't abandoned the wrestling fandom in terms of writing, I swear, I've just got a LOT of inspiration currently coming from Steve/Bucky and I'm not going to say no to it. So here is the sequel to _Let Me Sleep_ , it would definitely be a good idea to read that before reading this.

Enjoy!

* * *

Tony never called, not that Steve thought he would. The phone had been a gesture of good faith, an olive branch. A softer way to say _we're still friends even though I picked him_. A softer way to say _I'm sorry I broke everyone out of that jail_ (but really, I'm not sorry about that) _but they deserved their freedom_. Being out of the job was foreign, not racing into battle with his shield brandished ready to take on anything was hard. Not that he had a shield anymore, leaving it in Siberia at Tony's feet had been the hardest and easiest decision Steve had ever made. He'd cherish the time he spent with that shield; like an extension of his arm but there came a time when hanging it up became a real vision in his future.

Wanda Maximoff had shown him his greatest fear a year ago. A world where the war had ended and there was nothing to fight. Where he could go _home_... except he had no home to go to. Not then he didn't. His home among the Avengers wasn't truly a home, not to him. They were a disjointed family of misfits just trying to hold it together. The Sokovia Accords had fractured them further, leaving pieces of their team spread all over the universe, really, never truly to be whole again. Now? Now he had a home, even if his home was frozen under ice in the depths of Africa, he had one.

It wasn't only Tony he hadn't spoken to, not Clint, not Wanda, not Scott, not even Sam. Not because he didn't trust them, no he trusted them more than almost anyone, but because he owed them silence. Their lives had been thrown into turmoil enough when he came calling that he owed them a few silent months, hell maybe even a year or two.

Natasha however? Natasha was relentless. Steve knew it was only a matter of time before her spy skills brought her to him. She worried about him, for good reason probably, but Steve needed a break. He needed to a way to decompress, to _not_ be Captain America for a while. He needed time to think and search for a way to fix Bucky. He trusted T'Challa to find a way, he did, but looking on his own gave him piece of mind. Steve Rogers was a hands-on man, if he can help, he will help.

In a testament to Natasha's perhaps growing scale of patience, she wanted a generous week before showing up at Steve's door. How she found him he'd never truly know, but perhaps he should start straying further from the safe place that was New York.

It was a much more delicate thing than he expected when she knocked on the door. Softly like she was abashed to disturb him, but with urgency that he knew who she was. So tiredly, Steve opened the door a crack, the afternoon sun caught the red of Natasha's hair and damn near blinded him as he pulled the door open a little more.

"Hey there, captain," Natasha said.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, "Just Steve is fine."

"Steve," Natasha amended, smiling gently, "how are you?"

He shrugged one shoulder, "Been better, been worse."

Natasha sighed, "Are we strangers now, Steve? What's with the cold shoulder," she paused, and chuckled to herself, "no pun intended."

Steve cracked a smile, and opened the door so Natasha could come in. She touched his forearm as she passed, a gentle almost sisterly thing.

"No need to check, I'm alone," Natasha called from the sitting room.

Damned if she didn't know him well. Steve closed the door and met her in the sitting room. Natasha eased down onto the couch, looking casual for once in jeans and a simple green t-shirt, but she was armed to the teeth, she had to be. Natasha Romanoff went nowhere without several of her favorite toys. Steve occupied the chair opposite her, leaning back to look at her. Outwardly at least, she wasn't Black Widow today. She was Natasha, whoever that was, the friend that Steve had asked once upon a time.

"How is he?" She asked.

"Who?"

"Come on, Steve. Don't play me like this," Natasha said, "I'm not here for anyone else. I'm here for me, as your friend. What's going on?"

"Tony didn't tell you?" Steve asked.

"Tony and I have a complicated relationship, something I'm sure you understand. We aren't exactly on speaking terms after what happened at the airport," Natasha said, "but I have it on good authority that you left with Barnes, and without the shield."

Steve shrugged, "It wasn't mine anymore."

"So that's just it? No more Captain America?"

"Not for a while, Nat," Steve said, "we all need a break sometimes, don't we? The Accords threw everything off the rails. The team isn't right anymore, not when half of them ended up in a nightmare of a jail because of what happened. There's a lot of mistrust there now. I owe them a lull, some quiet. They fought with me; they believed with me, they deserve a break. So do I."

Natasha nodded, "You're right. You've done a lot over the years. You deserve some time away. So, what about Barnes?"

Steve fixed her with a hard stare, "I hope you don't take offense to my hesitance. I never know who you're really working for, Nat."

"None taken. It's smart, really," she said as she leaned in and put her elbows on her knees, "but I promise you that I'm not here on orders. I don't exactly have anyone to give me those anymore. I'm not here for Tony, or Secretary Ross or what's left of S.H.I.E.L.D I'm just not. I'm here for me, and I'm here for you. No agendas, no secrets, just the two of us. I know it's hard to believe, and I've earned that from you, but all I have is my word, Steve, whatever that's worth to you."

Steve sat silently for a moment, chewing over her words. She looked as sincere as they came, imploring with her eyes that he believe her. Maybe he had a soft spot for Nat, maybe he was always a little gullible when it came to her, but she looked honest, looked concerned, just like she had the day of Peggy's funeral. When she came to him just so he wouldn't be alone with this new heartache, when she held him against her and just let him cry. She let him be Steve, the person, the heartbroken ex-soldier who'd lost one of the last pieces of his old life.

"He's different," Steve said, "he's all I got left, and I guess it's always been that way. He remembers so much now, it's amazing. He's hurt though, from all of it. He remembers every single thing they made him do. He's living in a nightmare everyday, Nat. He doesn't trust himself or his own head. He's sleeping now..."

"He's not... Steve, he's not gone, is he?" Natasha asked.

"No, no. He's alive," Steve shook his head, "No, I'd be a mess if he was dead again. He's sleeping, frozen, until we can fix him."

Natasha studied him, the way his eyes dropped to his lap, ringed with red almost immediately. The way he gripped the wrist of his left arm, kneading the skin absently. The way Steve curled in on himself, fear weaving it's way through his veins, terrified of losing him.

"He's gonna be okay, Steve," Natasha said, "you got him now."

Steve huffed, but it was almost a laugh, "Sure, if you say so. I just hate he's so far away. I can't be with him, be near him. He's alone again and even though he's sleeping, he's still alone in a place he doesn't know. That's all he's had since the 40's, Nat. Being alone and separated from those who care about him and it's not right."

"Where is he?" Natasha asked.

"Wakanda," Steve whispered, "T'Challa has him. He went under willingly, but he's still alone. They're trying to figure out a way to get the HYDRA stuff out, then they'll wake him up."

"They're incredibly advanced, if anyone can find a way to fix him, its T'Challa and his people," Natasha said, "so what are you worried about?"

"That it won't work. That the HYDRA programming is buried too deep and there isn't a way to reverse it," Steve said, gripping his left wrist a little tighter, "all he wants is to come home, to have a home to come to and I'm afraid he'll never have it."

Natasha sat back, crossing her legs as she surveyed Steve's reaction. Barnes had always been a sore topic for Steve, he'd always had a soft spot for the only piece of his past he had left, but this was different. The way he talked about Barnes now had more pain behind it, more longing, something had changed in a major way. There were tears at the corners of his eyes when he spoke about him this time; there was a deeper sentiment behind his wanting to give Barnes a home, not just to rid him of the HYDRA nightmares, but keep him safe from those who were going to hunt him.

For once, Natasha was at a loss for words. She tried, but she stumbled. "T-there's something you're not telling me. This seems a lot bigger than you're letting on."

Steve laughed, "Of course. We all gotta have our secrets, right?"

"Steve, you left the team for Barnes…"

"His name is Bucky," Steve interrupted.

"Bucky, I'm sorry," Natasha nodded respectfully, "but the point still stands. You left the team for him; you dropped the shield for him. I know Bucky is important to you, Steve, but, it's different than we think, isn't it?"

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, "There's a lot about it that's different than you think it is."

"Will you tell me?" Natasha asked.

"Will you keep it to yourself? I want to be able to trust you, Nat, but you can't tell anyone. Not Clint, not Tony, not Bruce if you see him. Not a single word." Steve implored, his eyes fixed on hers with a seriousness that nearly frightened her.

"Whatever you need, Steve," Natasha said, "I'll take it to my grave."

Natasha had never made a promise like that. Not to S.H.I.E.L.D, not to the KGB, not in the Red Room did Natasha ever promise to take something into the dirt with her. Extending this courtesy, this show of faith to Steve was something no one ever received from her.

"He… Buck… he's everything to me," Steve said and pinched the bridge of his nose, "He's… I don't know how it. He's just all I need."

Natasha smiled slightly, lowering her eyes to Steve's hands, clasped together tightly in his lap. "You love him, don't you? I mean more than because he's your best friend. You love him… romantically, am I right?"

Steve glanced up at her through his impossibly long eyelashes, "How'd you guess?"

"Your body language," Natasha said, "you haven't let go of your left wrist since I got here. The way your eyes look when you talk about him. The only person I've ever seen you get emotional for is Peggy, and I know how much you loved her, everyone does. I can only imagine it's the same with Bar—I mean, Bucky."

"You're good, Romanoff," Steve chuckled, "so we're keeping this quiet, right? Not a word?"

"Not a word, Rogers," Natasha said, "but so you know, it's not 1940 anymore. Things like that are perfectly normal."

Steve rolled his eyes, "I know that. I've seen the internet…"

Natasha outright laughed, "Oh Steve. You're such an old man at heart."

"Cut it out, you know what I'm trying to say," Steve said, "it's not something I'm used to and I'm not exactly looking to spread it around the world."

"That's fair," Natasha nodded and relaxed into the couch, "how long? With Barnes?"

Steve settled into his recliner, his fingers still lingering on his left arm, "As long as I can remember. If I ever really felt love for someone… it was Bucky, or Peggy. There wasn't ever anyone else I felt it in my heart for. When Peggy passed…and I thought I was gonna lose Buck again. Nat, that's what it feels like to have your heart ripped out and thrown against the wall. I'm never gonna find a love like those again, not this far along. Bucky is all I got left and I can't let him go."

"I understand what it's like to have something you love disappear in front of your eyes," Natasha said, her eyes going far way. She blinked and seemed to refocus. "So my question to you is, what are you doing sitting in New York when the love of your life is on ice in Wakanda?"

"I'd just be in the way. There's nothing I can do there to help the process, Nat. There's hardly anything I can do here to help, but at least here, I'm sitting on my own hands. I'm jittery and I'm out of everyone's way. That, and I'm the only one that knows here."

"Are you afraid people will look at you differently if they find out about Bucky?" Natasha asked.

"Sure, wouldn't you be if you were in my shoes?" Steve asked.

"Point, but love is love, despite gender," Natasha said, "be proud of the man you love, Steve."

"I am proud of him," Steve said defensively, "I'm prouder of Bucky than I've been of anything in my life. He's been through so much and he's here, he's on the other side. He might not be totally whole, or totally right but he's alive and he wants to be here with me."

"That's not what I mean," Natasha waved a hand, "but honestly I'm the last person you should be taking romantic advice from. So instead of telling you something I'm not an expert in, I'll tell you a few things I _am_ something of an expert about. Matters of the mind are things I know a good deal about. I've been broken and remade more times than I can count. There's always a way out."

"How? If there's anything you can do to help, Nat please tell me. I need to help him this time. I need to bring him home," Steve plead.

"I understand, Steve, trust me," Natasha said, "I'll do whatever I can to help you. I promise."


	2. I Know A Guy

For two weeks Steve and Natasha worked tirelessly trying to pin down ways to delete Bucky's HYDRA programming once and for all.

Now, Natasha Romanoff had some lunatic ideas in the past; she'd done some things mid-mission that made Steve question everything about her, but this idea? This one nearly made Steve's eyes fall out of his head.

"Just hear me out, Rogers," Natasha snapped, clicking off the screen of the tablet that sat on her knees, "all I'm saying is that she could be helpful. She wants to use her powers for good? She can change the scope of reality with her powers, why shouldn't she be able to fix Bucky's head?"

"I'm not putting Wanda in that position, Natasha," Steve frowned deeply, shaking his head. "That's not fair to her."

"Oh come on, Steve! We've been searching for an out for two goddamn weeks and we've got nothing! Sure, it's a shot in the dark but that's what she does! If she can undo what HYDRA did, if she really wants to help people, why won't you even consider the option?" Natasha said.

"You didn't see her," Steve murmured, his eyes low and haunted, "you didn't see her in that prison. You didn't see how she was kept in there, shut in like an animal. They had her in a straight jacket with a shock collar on. People shouldn't be treated like that, especially not someone like Wanda. Just because they're scared of her, because they don't understand her, they locked her up like a feral dog. I don't know if she'd even be up for it. She's just a kid, Nat."

Natasha sighed. Chivalrous, honorable Steve would never disappear. "She's not a kid, Steve. She's seen just as much as we have..."

"Don't exaggerate," Steve interrupted, "you know that's not true."

"Alright fine, maybe she hasn't seen as many horrors as we have but she's not an innocent baby, Steve," Natasha said, "if she wants to help, I don't see why you wouldn't just pose the question to her. Maybe she'll want to do what she can. She wants to be a hero? How isn't this her chance?"

"I'm not asking her for selfish things..."

"But you'll ask T'Challa?" Natasha countered.

"I didn't ask. He offered." Steve said. "I'm not asking Wanda to do something because I need it. I owe it to her to let her live her life for a while."

"So you'll be miserable because you won't ask for help," Natasha frowned, "typical man logic. Don't be so damn stubborn. You were selfish for the first time in your damn life when you chose Bucky over everything. You chose love and a new life over everything. Why won't you choose twenty minutes or an hour of Wanda's life to finish your mission?"

"What if she doesn't want to? What if she refuses? What if she's not ready to jump into something like that? She's not as confident with her powers as she wants to be and after what happened in Nigeria? Its likely T'Challa won't even want her near the city. He might have forgiven Bucky, but Wanda actually harmed his people."

"Why are you making excuses, Steve? Why are you trying so goddamn hard to avoid doing something else for yourself? Why are you avoiding doing something for _Bucky_?" Natasha asked, shoving aside the tablet on her lap as she rose to her feet. "Dammit Steve you're so stubborn!"

Taken aback, Steve leaned away from Natasha's pacing form, "Why are you so upset?"

"Because you spent your entire life helping everyone else. You spent your entire life trying to save the world and now when you have the chance to give yourself the life you want, you're backing out! You're trying to make it difficult on yourself," Natasha said, "you have an easy out and you're not willing to take it! Why?"

"I'm not used to it being easy. It just doesn't seem like it's gonna work out right," Steve hung his head shaking it sadly, "I'm just...I'm not sure."

Natasha stopped pacing in front of Steve and gripped his shoulders, "What will it hurt to ask? The worst she can say is no, Steve."

"I just don't want her to get caught up in something that's gonna hurt her. Not again." Steve said.

"She's not your daughter. You don't have to protect her like that." Natasha released Steve's shoulders and moved away to the window behind him.

That hurt a little more than Steve expected. He'd long given up on the notion of children and fatherhood of any sort. After the serum, during the war, it just wasn't possible. Not that he'd really thought of it before; he never wanted to pass his poor health down to children, he never had anyone to think about having children with anyway. Not until Peggy, but there'd never been time for that, not with her building S.H.I.E.L.D from the ground up and him being on ice for 70 years, that just wasn't possible.

"It's not that," Steve paused, trying to push out the words that stuck in his throat, "I just feel responsible... she's just a kid..."

"You're going to smother her," Natasha said, staring out the window at the darkening skyline. "It's just what Tony tried to do. Let her be her own person."

Steve choked on the air in his throat. He surged to his feet and walked into the kitchen, leaving Natasha at her post by the window. He yanked open the cabinet and took out a water glass that he nearly dropped. Natasha crept up behind him and snagged the glass. Filling it to the brim from the tap, she downed half of it before handing it to Steve.

"I'm sorry for being so blunt..."

"No you're not."

Natasha chuckled, "No, you're right. I'm really not. I'm not sugarcoating things for you, Steve. However if you're dead set on leaving Wanda out of it, then we'll leave her out. Just don't except me not to tell you how stupid I think you are for not taking the best option."

"Not the best, Nat. The easiest, but not the best."

* * *

Natasha had come and gone a few times in the next week. She didn't want to stay in one place too long lest Tony or someone be looking for her; she wouldn't give up Steve's position in that way either. When she did return, it was with an overflowing Chinese takeout bag, backpack full of tech, and a laptop that looked like she might have lifted it from Stark Tower at some point. When Steve questioned her about it, she simply smiled and shrugged it off, naming Pepper Potts as her tech source. She and Tony might not have been on speaking terms, but Pepper was a different story. She had just as much access to Stark tech that anyone else did, and Natasha had the skills to block out any tracking devices that might come with the bundle.

"How long have you been avoiding Sam?" Natasha asked as she tapped away at the laptop's projected keyboard.

Steve floundered for a moment, "I'm not avoiding him!"

"Mhm, be sure to tell him that when you talk to him again," Natasha glanced sidelong at him, a smirk quirking the corner of her mouth, "I think he's a little jealous. You two had quite the bromance."

"Should I know what that means?" Steve asked.

Natasha laughed as she clicked a few keys. She reached for the screen and grabbed the browser window, flinging it digitally over to Steve's tablet. Steve's nose crinkled as he read the page Natasha sent him.

"A close but nonsexual relationship between two men," Steve muttered, then rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might pop out, "you're hysterical."

"Just saying, you might want to talk to him," she said, "you know Sam gets a little antsy when he doesn't have anything to do for a while."

"Antsy is better than dead," Steve muttered.

"You sure are making choices for a lot of people here, Rogers. First Wanda, now Sam? I get the sentiment but try not to become a dictator." Natasha said.

"You're pushing it, Natasha." Steve glowered at her.

"That's my job," she said and purposefully quirked an eyebrow, inclining her head in Steve's direction, "that, and finding a way to unbreak your boyfriend."

Steve's neck and cheeks immediately flushed bright pink. Even a super-soldier wasn't immune to a little first-hand radical embarrassment. Natasha enjoyed teasing Steve about Bucky, enjoyed seeing the very human reaction he had to it. Not that Steve was ever inhuman, but he was so much a soldier, so much a leader that he rarely left himself vulnerable enough to show his feelings. Natasha liked seeing him flustered, liked seeing him chew his lips when he thought of Bucky, liked the hope in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. Love was a funny thing and for Steve it was both old and new to experience. Something he thought long dead brought back to life, just like Bucky.

"You're comfortable with that, right? Because that's what he'll be when he's defrosted again," Natasha said, smiling knowingly, "who woulda thought Captain America would have a boyfriend."

Steve snorted, "Not Captain America. Steve Rogers."

"I'm glad there's a difference now," Natasha said.

Steve settled a little deeper into the cushions beside her, sliding the tablet to the side. A warm little smile overtook his face. "Yeah, I am too."

The laptop on the coffee table chimed and Natasha hunched forward to look at it. The sound hadn't pulled Steve out of whatever peaceful daydream he was entranced in and for that, so she nudged his knee with hers to bring his attention to the screen.

"Someone has eyes on you," she scowled, shaking her head, "probably my fault. I've come and gone too many times. It's sloppy."

"It's fine, Nat," Steve said, "Can you tell who it is?"

Natasha tapped the keyboard a few times, quick, frustrated finger strokes. "The frequency is triangulating. Give it a second."

Steve watched the screen closely as a map of the world zoomed out and spun. A blinking green dot appeared on the surface of Africa as the screen zoomed back in on the region of Wakanda. Natasha chuckled and sat back, a little relieved.

"It's T'Challa. I guess he'd imagine you'd be watching and waiting. I think he's trying to get your attention without blowing your cover," Natasha said. "Smart. Looks like you're wanted in Wakanda."

"Coming?" Steve asked.

"Oh, no. That's a bad idea. I have a feeling I wouldn't exactly be welcome," Natasha said, pushing to her feet. "Not after I buzzed him a few times with these bad boys."

Natasha shook her arms, nodding to the weapons around her wrists. Steve shrugged, nodding his agreement.

"That's fair," he said. "Thank you Nat. For everything you've done."

"You're welcome," she said, "now, I'll see you off, keep anyone off your trail, but this is where my ride ends. Call me when you're back stateside. Maybe...we can all...do lunch, or something. I'd love to meet Bucky, for real this time."

"Do lunch? I didn't even know those words were in your vocabulary," Steve chuckled, stood up, and pulled Natasha into a firm hug. "You're welcome here any time. I'm sure Buck would appreciate a friendly face other than mine."

"So long as you boys let me know when the honeymoon is over before I stop by, you've got a deal."

Steve was blushing again when he pulled back to give her the sternest look he could muster, but he failed miserably at that. He was bright, burning red this time, not that too-dainty-for-a-super-soldier pink from earlier.

' _Captain America blushing about sex. What a thing to witness._ ' Natasha thought.

"Hilarious, Romanoff," Steve muttered. "I got one slight problem. How am I supposed to get to Wakanda without anyone noticing?"

Natasha thought for a moment, "Leave it to me. I know a guy."


	3. Defrosted

"It's really good to see you again, Captain."

Steve was baffled to see Phil Coulson when the hatch to the Quinjet lowered. Standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, that usual semi-bland Coulson smile. His face had flickered with an unexpected excitement when he spotted Steve standing at the bottom of the ramp. Not Captain America, but Steve Rogers, in a soft blue long-sleeved shirt and khaki slacks. Coulson had stuttered and tried to find the right words to express his shock that the cargo he was transporting was his lifelong hero.

Simultaneously, Steve was trying to grasp the fact that Phil Coulson was standing there. He was certain that Coulson had died back in New York during Loki's escape. Fury had thrown the bloody trading cards at his fingertips, insisting the Coulson had died for a reason. Now, he'd seen people come back to life, hell; he'd done it himself, but Coulson? How the hell did Coulson survive that?

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm still a little...confused here." Steve said.

"Oh it's no problem. I'm sure I'm the last person you were expecting to see," Coulson said, "It must be quite a shock."

"I'd like to say I can't be surprised anymore with everything I've seen," Steve said as the Quinjet smoothly took off, "but this is definitely a shock."

"It's a long story," Coulson said. "But we have a long flight, if you're up to it. By the way, can I ask why we're on our way to Wakanda?"

"Agent Romanoff didn't tell you?" Steve asked.

"No, she said that information was up to you to disclose," Coulson said. "She just thought I'd be glad to help. Which I am, obviously."

"Did you ever get your cards back," Steve asked.

Coulson let out a soft chuckle, "About those. They're a little messy now, not as mint as they used to be, but Fury saved them for me."

"I'm sorry about that," Steve lowered his eyes, "he shouldn't have done that. Then again, there are a lot of things Fury shouldn't have done."

"Being director of S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't easy. There's a lot of moving parts, lots of things to keep eyes on. It's impossible not to make a few questionable decisions." Coulson said.

"That's what you are now, then? Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Coulson nodded, "Fury gave me the reigns. He needed someone he trusted. I seem to be that guy."

"You're a good man, Coulson," Steve said. "I see why people trust you."

"In that case, can I ask again about Wakanda?" Coulson asked.

Steve glanced up, exhaling slowly. "Just...going to see an old friend."

* * *

Coulson hadn't pressed about Steve's answer the rest of the way to Wakanda. Steve sat anxiously, trying to discern T'Challa's reasons for calling him in so quickly. Bucky had only been on ice for a few weeks, had he really found a solution that quickly? Was something wrong with Bucky? Did something go south in the cryo chamber and this was the last chance he had to see the man he loved?

Steve tried to shake himself of the negativity, to focus on the logical side of things. Wakanda was an incredibly scientifically advanced place. They had technology and medicines that America would be jealous of. It shouldn't be unreasonable to think that they'd come up with a solution that quickly. Steve only prayed that he'd be able to take Bucky home. That the HYDRA taint in his mind was gone for good and they could start the life they'd always wanted.

As he was leaving the Quinjet, Coulson informed him that he'd be leaving, but a few members of his team would come behind him for extraction. An unspecified person named Fitzsimmons, and Agent May, to fly them out.

"Thank you, Director Coulson," Steve said with a mild smile and a firm handshake, "I really appreciate you bringing me here."

"Anything I can do to help," Coulson said, pausing a moment to listen to the speaker in his earpiece. "Well, I ought to be going. Good luck, Captain Rogers."

Steve didn't correct him; he wouldn't take that memory, that piece of familiarity from Phil. He just smiled and saluted as the director walked away.

King T'Challa himself greeted Steve when he'd passed the security clearance to enter the medical wing. It was bright and spotless as he remembered, people milling about both with urgency and not. He took a moment to marvel at it all before shaking the king's hand.

"Nice to see you again, your majesty." Steve said.

"And you, Captain," T'Challa said. "Your friend has improved significantly in a short amount of time..."

"He's off the ice?" Steve asked anxiously. "How long?"

"Two weeks," T'Challa said, motioning for Steve to follow him. "Perhaps he is more susceptible to tricks of the mind, but he responds well to treatment. The process has not been entirely painless, I'm afraid, but that, he also responds to well."

Steve swallowed, with some difficulty, "How painful?"

"Moderate to severe electroshock. I have very good doctors on my team, Captain. I assure you he was well taken care of in these moments."

"Can I see him?" Steve asked.

T'Challa nodded and held open the door to an observation room, "This way."

Behind the two-way glass was Bucky. Awake, alert, and unrestrained. In the room with him were two women, one sitting directly in front of him and the other just behind him with a device in her hand that looked strangely like a Taser.

Bucky looked different, just a little bit. His hair was still long and falling in his eyes but his face seemed fuller yet lighter than before. His eyes were that bright blue Steve always remembered and there were lines on his face where his smile used to be; he was smiling again, and God Steve couldn't wait to see it. The biggest difference though, was were the stump of twisted, frayed metal used to be on his left side was a brand new, gleaming metal arm.

"Y-you gave him a new arm?" Steve said.

"My gift to him," T'Challa said. "An apology for trying to kill him so many times."

Steve chuckled, "I'm sure he appreciates it."

"There have been improvements made to it. Things to perhaps make him feel a bit more human," T'Challa said. "Now watch, this is his final test. If he makes it through this, you can take him."

Unconsciously, Steve drifted closer to the two-way mirror. The woman sitting in the chair in front of him was holding his gaze without blinking and Bucky returned it easily. She was reciting words, slowly, clearly in Russian. Steve had never heard them before, but he knew what they were. The trigger words to unlock the HYDRA programming in Bucky's brain. Bucky didn't flinch, didn't move or blink when she finished, and murmured another Russian phrase.

"I'm not a goddamn soldier anymore." Bucky said. "So hell no I won't comply."

"What's your name, soldier?" The woman asked.

"I said I'm not a soldier," Bucky replied,  
mildly annoyed and his gaze flicked up slightly, like he could tell someone was watching. "My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky."

"Well done, Mr. Barnes," the woman said as she stood up and nodded ever so slightly. "Congratulations, that will complete your treatment. You are free to go home."

The mirror flickered for a split second and Bucky's eyes drew up to it further. A smile, wide and genuine spread over his face, showing his teeth and making his eyes crease.

"Steve," his whispered, then turned to the woman behind him. "Please. Let me see him."

The woman glanced toward the mirror and T'Challa nodded. The woman slid her Taser into a compartment on her belt and motioned for Bucky to follow her. Steve felt his breath leave his chest as Bucky disappeared from view. A few moments later, the door to the observation room opened and Bucky walked in behind the woman with the Taser. She eased to a halt beside T'Challa, leaving Bucky hanging in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

"Give them the room."

Steve heard T'Challa speak, felt the light thump of his hand on the back of his shoulder as he walked by and exited. He heard the door snap closed behind them but nothing caught his eye but Bucky.

"Get over here, punk." Bucky said.

And Steve went. Bucky engulfed him in a near smothering hug, pressing his lips softly just beside Steve's ear.

"You're back?" Steve asked softly.

"I'm back," Bucky said as he reluctantly pulled away. "Hey, check this out."

He moved back a step, and fiddling with something on the inside of the forearm of his metal arm. Before Steve's eyes, the metal disappeared; turning to flesh that perfectly matched Bucky's other arm. Steve's jaw hung, amazed as he watched Bucky wiggle his new flesh fingers.

"Touch it. It's wild." Bucky said.

He held out his palm, reaching for Steve's hand. Steve ran a long finger down the center of Bucky's palm, before running his fingers up and down his forearm, feeling the soft flesh over the cold, hard metal.

"That's amazing..."

"I can't remember what it was like to have two skin arms," Bucky said, gently squeezing Steve's fingers with his new skin, "it feels so real. It's kinda scary. But at least I don't have to worry about scaring people off with the metal arm."

"What's it made of?" Steve asked.

"Vibranium. I have no idea what makes the skin thing, but I like it."

"It's great, Buck," Steve said, grazing his fingers over Bucky's forearm. "How do you feel?"

"Better, normal. Like I'm actually free," Bucky said and gripped Steve's arm, pulling him into his chest. "Ready to go home."

Bucky nuzzled his nose into the side of Steve's neck and wrapped his fully flesh arm around his waist. Steve squeezed Bucky around the middle, inhaling the smell of him, the feel of his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"I missed you." Steve said.

"Missed you too," Bucky said, "apparently you're the first thing I asked for when they defrosted me. Not surprised."

"Natasha and I have been looking for a way to fix you while you were under."

"Of course you were. You stubborn ass," Bucky chuckled, his laugh jostling Steve against his chest. "Couldn't just wait, could you?"

"You know me. Patience really isn't my thing." Steve said.

"I do know that," Bucky smiled against his cheek and gently pressed a kiss there. "It feels good to know that again."

"Let's get you home, Buck. It's been long enough."

Bucky nodded, slowly pulling away from Steve. They stayed close as they exited the observation room, the flesh of Bucky's new arm purposefully resting as close to Steve as he could get without raising eyebrows. T'Challa again, in all his graciousness and hospitality, escorted them to the bus that was waiting for them with a soft, but almost knowing smile.

"Thank you," Bucky said, his voice a little thicker than usual as he moved to shake T'Challa's hand. "I'll never be able to repay you for the service you've done me."

"I require no repayment. I only ask that you live authentically, and do good with the gift given to you." T'Challa said. "Both you and Captain Rogers are welcome in Wakanda any time."

Steve moved forward to shake T'Challa's hand as they said their goodbyes. As they turned to board the bus, Steve leaned closer to Bucky.

"I think he suspects," he said.

Bucky laughed. "I think I don't care. The man gave me a damn new arm, I think it's a little more than fine that he suspects we're closer than we say we are."

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes. It's so wonderful to finally meet you."

The pair was stopped in their tracks as a pleasant girl with brown hair, and English accent, and a wide smile approached them. She wore a white lab coat over blue jeans and a black sweater.

"You know us?" Steve asked cautiously.

"Oh yes! I'm something of a history buff," the girl said. "I'm very familiar with the both of you. That and Coulson informed us we'd be transporting at least you, Captain Rogers. My name is Gemma Simmons, I'm a doctor working with S.H.I.E.L.D. on Director Coulson's team."

Bucky took a hesitant half step backwards. "Which part of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Oh! No, no, the good part!" Simmons said, waving her hands. "No I'm sure that must be distressing to hear. I'm sorry! We're what's left of the good of S.H.I.E.L.D. we still protect people."

"They're okay, Buck. Don't worry." Steve said.

"Please, gentlemen, follow me this way," Simmons said, "I realize you've been through a great ordeal, Sergeant Barnes, but we've had King T'Challa request that we monitor you on your first flight post-treatment."

"What? He doesn't think he got all the HYDRA out? You're not gonna put me in shock therapy all the way home, are you?" Bucky asked.

Simmons led them into an incredibly high tech looking laboratory near the center of the bus. There was a young man tinkering around on a computer there. He looked up when Simmons entered with Steve and Bucky, and jumped to his feet in an awkward sort of half-salute, half God knows what greeting.

"Relax, Fitz," Simmons said, smiling. "No need to make our guests feel uncomfortable."

"Me? You're the one going on about history," Fitz grumbled.

"Fitzsimmons... there's two of you," Steve said, rubbing one eye. "Coulson made it sound like one."

"People consider us something of a package deal," Simmons said as she directed Bucky to the edge of a hospital bed. "You really do get used to it after a while. Sergeant Barnes, might I have your real arm, please?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow and stuck out his right arm to her. Simmons worked quickly, clipping a monitor to Bucky's index finger and slapping on a couple of other electronic sensors to his forearm and the inside of his bicep.

"So…ehm…Coulson mentioned you had a metal arm," Fitz stammered.

Bucky snorted a soft laugh and snapped the fingers of his left arm. The sound was grating, an awful metal on metal screech. Steve plugged his ears with his fingers, glaring at Bucky who only smiled at him with a mischievous little wink.

"It's under there. I'm not quite sure how it works, like a hologram or something, but it feels real if you touch it," Bucky said. "It's pretty crazy."

Fitz hurried around to Bucky's left side. "That's incredible. What a bloody masterpiece."

"Easy now, Fitz. Don't go swooning over an arm."

Steve glanced up behind him, another woman stood at the balcony above the medical bay. She had to be Agent May; she had the look of an agent about her. Severe yet calm, and stony, Agent May overlooked the medical bay, watching with a mildly bored look on her face.

"Are we ready to take off?" She asked.

"All set here, May," Simmons said, as she clicked away at the keys to bring up Bucky's vital signs. "We're good to go. Gentlemen, you're finally on your way home."


	4. Welcome Home

It took all of five minutes for the S.H.I.E.L.D. bus to be gone after they'd dropped Steve and Bucky at the secure location so they could travel home. Bucky was silent for most of the trip, taking in the sights of parts of New York he hadn't seen in seventy years. Lights were brighter, buildings were bigger, and everything looked like it was coated in chrome. It took nearly an hour before they arrived in a rural, secluded farm style house with a huge front yard. The house sat toward the back of the property, wide and brick red, with white framed windows and white pillars. Bucky half expected the whole thing to be surrounded by a white picket fence… but it wasn't… the fence was a light brown wood. A house was a huge change of pace from the sad little apartment Steve had grown up in, and the crowded three-bedroom space that Bucky had come up in with his parents and sisters.

"Where in the world did you find this little slice of paradise?" Bucky asked as he leaned out the window the marvel at it.

"Got the idea from a friend," Steve said as he eased the car into the underneath the covered port beside the fence. "I stumbled upon this place and thought it was nice. Away from the craziness of the city, a place we can have some fresh air."

"It's perfect," Bucky said as Steve unlocked the doors and they got out of the car. "Thank you."

"What're you thinking me for?" Steve asked, staring at him over the roof of the car.

"Everything? For not giving up on me, for finding us a goddamn home," Bucky said. "I mean a real one. Look at this place... it's a real home, Steve."

"I figured it was something we could both use." Steve said.

Bucky smiled, "Well, what're you waiting for? Show me around."

Steve grinned, motioning for Bucky to follow him. Pushing open the gate, Steve pulled Bucky close to him as soon as they were through. They were home now, just the two of them and damned if he wasn't going to show Bucky the affection he deserved now that he had him to himself. Bucky smiled, a real, happy thing with no hint of sadness or trepidation behind it. Bucky had a home, a mind that was all his own, and he had Steve, those where the only things in life he ever truly needed.

He followed Steve into the house; it was a cozy thing on the inside all light wood and stone like something out of a fairy tale cottage. The furnishings however, were decidedly _very Steve_. Most of the fabrics were muted earth tones with splashes of cool yellows and rich, warm blues. Steve always did have an eye for color and art and did it ever show in the sitting room.

Steve tugged him along into a kitchen that reminded him of home. The walls were a soft cream color that made the shiny stainless appliances stand out as bright as the buildings in New York City. All of the hand towels were in those comfortable shades of brown, and green. Bucky floated over to the refrigerator, his full flesh hand still linked with Steve's as he tugged the door open. It was full of food, condiments, and bottles of beer.

"That wasn't there when I left," Steve said. "Nat must have brought it..."

"Nat?" Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows at Steve.

"Natasha... Romanoff, you'll meet her. She wants to see you, the real you." Steve said.

Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, chewing at his bottom lip, his eyes creased with worry. "The Widow? She wants to see me?"

"Hey, hey, don't worry. Nat's good," Steve said, squeezing Bucky's hand. "She's a friend. She was helping me try to find a way to help fix you. She's a friendly, I promise."

"I shot her," Bucky cringed, shaking his head. "Right in the stomach. You really trying to tell me she doesn't want to take me out?"

"I won't let her," Steve said fiercely. "Natasha is a friend, but I won't let her hurt you, Buck. Plus, that's not how it is. She wants to see you like I see you, the real you. She doesn't want to hurt you."

"You're the only one who sees me like you do," Bucky said, the worry slowly fading from his expression. "C'mon, show me the rest of this place."

Steve nodded and led Bucky out of the kitchen and briefly into the dining room. There was a long, light wood table down the center of the room and hanging lights that hovered almost a foot above the table casting warm yellow light through the room. Leaving there, he pointed out the bathroom, with its enormous shower and an old claw-footed tub ("it came with the place, don't ask me!" Steve had said), soft gray tile covered the floor and the walls were painted a warm green. Across from the bathroom was a moderately sized guest room. There were still blankets folded neatly on the end of the bed from when Natasha had stayed previously.

He led Bucky down the hall, past the small office that was full of books and a computer some other odds and ends. At the end of the hall was a set of white painted French doors, with one slightly ajar. Squeezing Bucky's hand, Steve led him through the doors into the master bedroom. If this room didn't scream Steve Rogers, Bucky didn't know what in the world would. In the center of the room was a huge bed draped in ocean blue and soft gray sheets with more pillows than any two men could possibly need. Slowly letting his hand fall from Steve's, Bucky drifted into the room, looking around with curious wonderment. The walls were painted a light mossy green color; on the far left wall was a huge landscape painting of the old New York skyline that they remembered. The windows were wide open and overlooked the huge backyard. Fresh air poured in, making the dark blue curtains billow back into the room. The carpet under their boots was plush and dark gray and Bucky itched to kick off his shoes and feel something soft under his feet for once.

"Steve… this room is amazing." Bucky whispered, looking around.

"I tried to make it nice," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I figured you'd be sick of white walls and sterile everything. I wanted it to be homey."

Bucky pointed at the painting on the far wall, "This. Did you do this?"

"Oh geez, no," Steve laughed, "I bought it. I'm so out of practice, I couldn't make anything that good right now."

"I bet you could," Bucky crossed the room to Steve, wrapping his full flesh arm around his waist. He pulled him close and kissed him lightly on the corner of the mouth. "At least you'll have plenty of time to brush up."

"Did you just make a painting joke?"

Bucky blinked, gawking at Steve for a long moment before he burst into laughter. And god was Bucky's laugh like hearing a chorus of angels… at least to him it was. It was a happy, throaty sound, which rang in Steve's ears beautifully. Bucky gasped a deep breath, squeezing onto Steve's waist as he leaned forward just a bit, his laughs dissolving into tiny giggles.

"I can't remember when the last time I laughed was," Bucky said, brushing his bangs out of his face, "man that feels good."

"It's good to hear you laugh again," Steve said. "C'mon, you must be hungry. Let's have some dinner."

"Oh you cook now? Since when," Bucky asked, following Steve out of their bedroom and into the kitchen, "because the way I remember it, you could hardly make eggs without them turning to shoe soles."

Steve gave him a playful shove, pretending to scowl. "Can it, jerk. You're not much better if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, I bet you don't. I'm a master at… ah, shit, what's that stuff called? That goopy gray grainy shit?" Bucky rubbed his chin and worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Oatmeal, you mean?" Steve asked.

"Yeah! That stuff! I'm great at oatmeal." Bucky said. "I think… or, at least, I was."

"Well if you call it goopy, gray, and grainy, I don't think I wanna eat that, pal," Steve snickered, pulling open the door to the refrigerator. "Plus, I don't think we can live off of oatmeal forever. I don't know about you but my appetite is more like the entire army than one mid-sized human boy like it used to be."

"I don't know what my appetite is anymore. I can't tell you the last time I had solid food," Bucky said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I wonder if I'll even be able to stomach it…"

"They weren't feeding you?" Steve frowned.

"Nah. 'The Asset' didn't need food. Real food was a privilege, it made you tired if you had too much," Bucky said, his eyes going far away, slipping into an old memory. "They fed me some…I don't even wanna call it food. Gruel, or whatever, it didn't taste like shit but it had _nutrients_ , enough to keep me alive when I wasn't frozen. Fill up on it, and it kept you warm enough, gave you energy and that's all you needed."

"Hmm, maybe we'll take it slow then," Steve said, opening the pantry door. It was more stocked than he'd left it. Natasha again, he suspected. "How about soup? At least there are…pieces of solid food in there."

Bucky made a face, "You wanna feed me soup? My first meal in seventy years and you wanna feed me soup?"

"I want you to be able to keep it down," Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed four cans of chunky chicken soup out of the pantry. "What, were you expecting to eat steak for your first meal?"

"I was hopin'," Bucky muttered. "But I get it. Soup and crackers at least?"

"Yeah, we can do that," Steve grinned. "Go on and sit down, relax. I'll heat everything up."

Bucky pushed away from the counter as Steve rummaged in a drawer for the can opener. He wrapped both of his arms around Steve's waist and squeezed him lightly, dropping a kiss on the back of his neck. He lingered for a moment, his nose pressed into the soft hair in the back of his head. Steve leaned into the embrace, as Bucky dipped his head again and kissed his neck.

"I love you, Steve," Bucky whispered. "Thank you for everything."

* * *

It turned out that soup and crackers was just a little heavy in Bucky's long-empty stomach. After gobbling down three super-soldier sized bowls of soup and nearly two entire sleeves of crackers on his own, he'd spent the last hour in the bathroom vomiting the entire thing up. Bucky had been _absolutely famished_ and chicken soup sounded like it'd been sent straight from the gods to go into his gut.

Unfortunately, the gods saw fit to take it away shortly after he'd ingested it.

Steve perched on the edge of the bathtub while Bucky emptied his stomach of the first nearly solid thing he'd eaten in years. Bucky heaved until his entire chest turned red and his eyes watered. Steve crossed over to the sink and filled a cup with half water and half mouthwash for Bucky to rinse his mouth with. Bucky slumped to the floor, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Well that was stupid," he murmured. "All I wanted was food."

"Too much, too soon, Buck," Steve said. "Next time maybe not three bowls in one sitting."

"I'm _hungry_ ," Bucky said.

"I know," Steve frowned and eased down on the floor in front of him. "But you haven't had that much real food in your system in decades. It wasn't ready for all that. Take it slow next time, and work up to it."

"You eat like a horse and you're fine," Bucky pouted.

"I've also been eating for way longer than you have," Steve said. "I did the same thing when I first came out of the ice. Starving, haven't had anything in my gut in years, and I ate until I thought I was gonna explode… and then I really did. Just like you did."

Bucky groaned and dragged himself up from the floor, he wavered a moment and leaned against the windowsill. "I'm tired now."

"C'mon then. Let's go to bed," Steve said, getting to his own feet. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"

Bucky glowered at Steve like he'd lost his mind then laughed that full, delighted laugh again. "Are you kidding? I've waited damn near eighty years to sleep next to you again. Of course I'm okay with sharing."

Steve reached out for Bucky and he came, leaning into the soft embrace Steve offered. They walked arm-in-arm to the through the French doors to the bedroom and nearly immediately Bucky slipped into an old memory, a happy one this time. One where he'd dove into a freshly made bed (one that he and Steve had saved all their pennies for, just to get one big enough for them both to be comfortable in) with all his clothes on. While Bucky rolled around and rumpled the sheets, Steve had whined himself into a coughing fit about how he'd taken forever to make that bed and he'd _just freaking ruined it_. He might have done he same thing right now if his stomach hadn't grumbled violently, sounding like it was trying to jump out of his body.

"You remember that bed we bought," Bucky murmured as he crouched to untie his boots. "The day we first brought it home and you spent all afternoon fussing about corners?"

"And you just jumped on it, like it was nothing," Steve laughed. "Rolled around like a pig in shit, with that goofy smile of yours. You knew damn well I couldn't stay mad at you."

Bucky yawned, and the action seemed to surprise him. Christ, had he _yawned_ in seventy years? He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt sleepy. Tired, sure, all the time, just exhausted to the bones. But sleepy? Pleasant, warm and a little bit dumb, in a big bed with soft blankets and warm body beside him? No, it'd been far too long since then. And Steve had never been particularly warm in his sleep, unless he was running a fever. He always shivered a bit, until Bucky would wrap his arms around him and let him leech his body heat. Then he'd make a sweet little sigh, settle, and go right to sleep.

"Buck? Hey, you alright?" Steve asked, crouched in front of him.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just remembering, that's all," Bucky said. "Stuff comes back in waves. Sometimes it's a little; sometimes it's a lot. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. That was a good one, an old one but good. Back from when we had that little shitty apartment. Back when you used to be sick and cold all the time and you'd snuggle up at me and get warm. You'd go right to sleep, out like a light."

Steve smiled and pushed up to his feet, "I remember that."

"You don't need me to be warm anymore," Bucky frowned as he toed off his boots.

"That doesn't matter. I could be hotter than a volcano and I'd still sleep as close to you as I can, just because it's you." Steve said.

Bucky turned away because he felt himself blushing. He yanked his shirt over his head and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Steve's hands on his bare back because he hadn't heard him coming. He twitched and wriggled when Steve's fingers drifted lightly over the mangled skin where the metal was jammed into his shoulder.

"Don't," Bucky choked out, cringing. "Please."

Steve ignored him, like he was known to do. He pressed the lightest flutter of a kiss on Bucky's shoulder, right at the seam of his skin and the metal. Bucky made a strange gurgling sound in his throat like he might get sick again and lurched away from Steve, whirling to face him with shock and disbelief.

"Why would you do that?" He asked.

Steve looked genuinely confused. "I don't understand."

Bucky flexed his metal fingers, scowling down at them. "Why would you treat this thing like the rest of me?"

"Because it is part of you?" Steve said, confused. "Buck..."

"Don't sweet talk me about this goddamn monstrosity," Bucky snapped, taking his flesh hand through his hair roughly. "Do you know what this thing has done?"

"Untied your shoes, shoveled three bowls of soup down your throat, held your own damn hair back while you yakked everything up," Steve said testily. "Bucky, that arm isn't the same one from all those years ago. T'Challa gave you a new one so you could start over. That one doesn't have all the blood on it..."

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there, Steve," Bucky said, gritting his teeth. "Just because they got the programming out doesn't mean I don't remember _everything_! It doesn't mean that the blood and death and nightmares stop when I close my eyes. I don't want you to love that part of me, I sure as hell don't."

Steve sighed and reached for Bucky's metal hand, holding his it in both of his palms, Steve looked sternly into his eyes. "You're always asking me to do stuff you know I can't do. Asking me to leave you, asking me to forget you, asking me not to love everything about you. I can't do that, Buck and you know it. I love the whole package, good, bad, and in between."

Bucky's shoulders slumped. He exhaled a long breath and the metal plates of his arm whirred softly as he turned his hand, and reached for Steve's shoulder, yanking him into a tight hug.

"You big dumb lug," Bucky murmured into the side of his sun-blond hair, "too damn sweet for your own good. Always have been."

"Only for you, pal." Steve said.

Bucky snorted as he pulled away. "Nah, not just for me. There was that one gal, the pretty one with the brown hair... Carter, from the Army. You were always sweet on her."

Steve went rigid for a moment, sadness clouding his eyes and then his shoulders hunched like he'd been hit. Panic seeped into Bucky's chest the moment he saw Steve's reaction; had he overstepped an invisible line? Was the Carter woman off limits to talk about? They'd never discussed it, hell, boundaries for them had never really existed, but Steve's visceral reaction to hearing her name scared him. He'd made him upset; hurt him with just a few words. Unbidden, Bucky's breath quickened, quietly terrified of what it meant to upset Steve. Not many things could do that, but in their first 24 hours together, he'd found the one goddamn thing.

"I'm sorry," Bucky blurted. "I shouldn't have said anything. Please don't be mad at me."

Steve's eyes shot up to Bucky's face, pinched with worry and panic. His expression softened as he reached for him; Bucky hesitated a split second, but came to him all the same.

"I'm not mad at you, Bucky," Steve said. "It's just...a memory, ya know? Peggy's gone... it makes me sad, but...she lived a real full life. I got to see her some but it was only about seventy years too late."

"You loved her, yeah?" Bucky asked.

"Just the same as I do you," Steve replied. "It just wasn't meant to be. Peggy was something else, a real class act, but...it just wasn't meant to be, that's all. I was too lucky as it is. Most people only get one shot to find the great love of their lives. I got two."

Bucky huffed softly. "Tell me about it. We both died and came back and somehow you're still here and you still love me. It doesn't make any damn sense, but here you are and here I am and it's like the world shook us apart and spun us right back together."

"It was meant to be," Steve said.

"I'm sorry about Peggy, Steve," Bucky said, brushing his flesh fingers across Steve's cheek. "Did you get to say goodbye?"

"Yeah, in a way," Steve nodded. "I went to her funeral, helped carry the casket. It just...happened in the middle of all that crap with the Accords. None of that stuff mattered, I needed to be there."

"Will you tell me about that? The Accords? A lot happened with all that, didn't it?" Bucky asked. "You damn near killed Stark over that..."

"No, not over that. Over you," Steve said, glancing up to look into Bucky's eyes. "He blew off your arm, wanted to stick you in a prison and have you tortured again over what HYDRA made you do, over stuff you couldn't control. Tony is my friend, but he tried to take you from me again, just when I'd got you back. I couldn't let that happen."

Bucky smiled, but it was a sad, lifeless thing. "I never knew you had a selfish bone in your body, Steve. You dropped everything for me, this whole life you had. Why?"

"How many times do I have to tell you I love you before you believe me?" Steve asked.

"I believe you, but that doesn't mean I understand it," Bucky said. "I'm tired, let's go to bed, okay?"

"Alright, yeah. Let's do that."

Bucky pulled away from their embrace, moving to wriggle out of his jeans, the goddamn things were tighter than a vice over his thighs and he could hear Steve snickering at him from the other side of the room.

"Alright over there, old man?" Steve called.

"Shut up," Bucky glowered playfully. "Who the hell makes pants like this anyway? Why are they so damn snug?"

"I couldn't begin to tell ya," Steve said. "I just chalk it up to the times changed a whole lot while we were out of the world."

"Yeah, time and apparently fabric too," Bucky grumbled as he kicked his jeans towards a hamper, not bothering to actually pick them up and put them inside. Typical Bucky.

"You want something soft to sleep in? There's a bunch of clothes in that dresser over there. I think they oughta fit you," Steve said as he crossed the room to pick up Bucky's discarded jeans and toss those, and his own into the hamper. Typical Steve. "You're a little bulkier now than you used to be."

Bucky shook his head and made for the bed in nothing but his underwear, pulling back sheets and blankets. "No way. I haven't slept in a bed in god knows how long. I wanna feel everything."

Steve nodded, hesitating for a moment, then shrugged and moved to the bed. He tugged down his side of the blankets and crawled in next to Bucky, wearing nothing but his boxers and a soft t-shirt. Steve leaned over and clicked off the lamp on the table beside the bed. The room glowed with soft moonlight from the open windows as Steve shifted to lie on his back. Bucky rolled to his side, draping his flesh arm over Steve's stomach, snaking his hand up the side of his shirt to rest against his skin. He leaned his head on Steve's shoulder, sighing with a sort of contentment he hadn't felt in decades. Steve curled an arm around Bucky's shoulders, squeezing him close as he dropped a kiss on the top of his head.

"Good night, Buck," Steve murmured. "I love you."

"'Night Steve," Bucky said sleepily, drowning in warmth and comfort. "Love you, too."


	5. Nightmares and Memories

Their first night was not a good night.

Bucky had fallen asleep straightaway, blanketed in warmth, comfort, and exhaustion. Wrapped up in Steve and the feeling of his skin against his own, Bucky had felt at home for the first time in decades, and it lasted all of two hours. Two hours of blissful, peaceful sleep before he was jarred out of it by a screeching nightmare of guns and blood and electric shocks. He could taste blood in his mouth and feel electricity in his brain, shorting out all of the happiness he felt from a lifetime. He'd tossed and squirmed, screaming until his throat was raw, his metal fist punched a hole in the headboard and wrapped itself around Steve's neck when he tried to check on him, his brain making him think he was one of the HYDRA agents who'd brainwashed him.

Only when he heard Steve's choking gasp did the nightmare shatter and he woke with a scream. Sweating and panting, Bucky skittered away from Steve so fast he fell off the side of the bed. Steve was coughing and wheezing almost like he used to do when he was little and sick, but this time Bucky had caused it, nearly squeezing the life out of him with his metal monster.

"Buck?" Steve croaked. "Buck what's wrong?"

Bucky tucked his head into his knees, his breathing out of control. "Stay over there. I hurt you..."

"I'm fine," Steve insisted, and moved a little closer but stopped when Bucky made that terrible, pained shout. "Buck, I'm okay. I'm fine."

"No! Stop lying to me Steve!" Bucky yelled. "You're not fine, I almost fucking strangled you!"

Steve wanted to yell, wanted to snap back at him because he _wasn't_ hurt, he knew Bucky didn't mean to nearly strangle him. He was shocked, sure, jolted awake by his screaming, thrashing boyfriend and the sound of splintering wood, but hurt? No, not at all. He couldn't yell at Bucky, not when he was so fragile and wounded, curled up in on himself and shaking. Steve eased off the bed, tiptoeing closer to Bucky. He gently brushed his tangled hair away from his forehead and crouched to press a light kiss there. Bucky went rigid, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, no. Stop," he groaned. "Stop being so good to me!"

"Bucky relax," Steve whispered, wrapping his arms around him despite how he fought. "Please relax. It was just a nightmare. You're alright; you're here with me. Come back, okay? Come back to me."

Bucky was still fighting, trying to claw his way out of the nightmare in his brain. T'Challa might have cured him of the HYDRA brainwashing, but he couldn't get rid of the memories. No one could control him anymore, but his mind was still splintered by the tragedies in his past. After several minutes of trying to pull himself out of Steve's grip and Steve holding tight, stroking his back and kissing his forehead, Bucky had eased back into the real world. Realizing that it was Steve's arms holding him, his lips kissing his sweaty forehead, his Steve trying to comfort him out of the hell in his head.

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispered. "I'm sorry Steve, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, easy Buck, you're alright," Steve said, leaning back to look at him. "You're fine baby, you're okay."

Bucky's eyes were red and wet when he looked up at Steve, his lips were swollen and the bottom one was bleeding like he'd bitten it to try and keep from screaming. Steve grabbed Bucky under his arms and lifted him to his feet. Bucky was limp and compliant as Steve wrapped his arm around his waist and walked him to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and led Bucky to sit down on the toilet seat. Taking a clean hand towel from the linen closet, he wet it with cold water and pressed it to Bucky's lip.

"Hold that there, okay?" Steve said and Bucky nodded weakly, holding the towel with his shaking flesh hand.

Steve grabbed another hand towel, soaked it in cold water and rang out the excess. He swiped the cool towel along Bucky's shoulders, neck, and chest. Moving back to the sink, Steve rewet the towel and wiped Bucky down again while he sat on the toilet seat, staring unseeing ahead of him.

"You're too good to me," Bucky muttered.

"Hush," Steve said, draping the cool, wet towel across the back of his neck. "You alright?"

Bucky shook his head wordlessly, his eyes drifting down to his bare feet. Bucky was ashamed, disgusted that he couldn't make it through one solid nights sleep out of the ice. He'd done the same thing in his solitary room in Wakanda after he'd received his new arm, so badly that they'd taken anything that could be destroyed away from him. He'd been left with nothing but a bed frame and a small reading lamp, but he broke those too. There was a piece of the metal frame lodged in the wall from where he'd ripped the frame apart and stabbed at an imaginary assailant. T'Challa had been sympathetic and understanding, he hadn't admonished Bucky for the snafu, but simply asked if he wanted another bed to sleep in. He'd refused, and piled his blankets and pillows on the floor where he'd be safe. Only when he was completely, utterly mentally and physically exhausted could Bucky finally sleep without dreams, when his body finally gave in and succumbed to sleep.

"Bucky?"

"I'm so tired," Bucky moaned, pulling the towel away from his split lip. "I thought it would have been better with you. I thought my head would calm down because you're with me...I just want to sleep."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could make it better just by being here, but it's not gonna be easy," Steve said gently. "But I'm here for you Buck. I'm not going to quit because you had a nightmare. It was just a bad dream and we'll get through it together. Till the end of the line, remember?"

"Yeah. Till the end of the line," Bucky whispered. "Thank you. I'm sorry about this... I didn't expect it to happen. Thank you for taking care of me. I love you, Steve."

"I love you too, Buck," Steve said. "C'mon, you wanna try and get some sleep again? Or you wanna wait it out a bit?"

"Gotta wait, I'm not ready for sleep yet," Bucky said. "You go to sleep, if you want. I'll be alright."

"Not leaving you, pal," Steve said. "Let's go sit in the living room, watch some TV. Maybe you can try and eat a little something. Eating always calmed you down before."

Bucky snickered softly. "You calling me fat, Rogers?"

Steve laughed, helping Bucky to his feet. "Oh no, not at all. You've always been a healthy fella is all."

* * *

Bucky ended up falling asleep in the most ungraceful position on the couch in the middle of a marathon of strange infomercials. His head lolling over the back of the couch with his mouth wide open and his legs stretched out in front of him. His arms were stretched out over the back of the couch and Steve was leaned into his side, his head resting against his metal shoulder, one arm was wrapped around Bucky's waist while the other was trapped between the two of them as they slept on, the TV playing quietly in the background.

Bucky was the first one to wake up, yawning heartily. He moved to stretch, until he realized that Steve was nestled against his side, sleeping peacefully, if not drooling on him a little (this was not unusual, Bucky remembered suddenly yet fondly, for a kid who hardly ever had air in his lungs, the boy could drool for days). Rubbing his eyes with his flesh hand, Bucky squinted at the window, the sun was just coming up, and maybe it was just past five in the morning. If Steve were still anything like he was before, he'd be waking up soon. Steve had always been an early bird, up with the sun sometimes by choice, sometimes not. For now, Bucky would leave him be, because the peaceful, sleeping face of Steve Rogers was a sight he'd longed for in every single one of his sweet dreams that invaded the nightmares.

So he sat, watching Steve's face while he quietly took inventory of the places that ached. This was a Winter Soldier habit; find the pain, so you can refocus it, use it. That wasn't his mission this time; he wanted to find the places that were sore and stiff to ask Steve how to fix it. His attention focused for a moment on the television, super-soldier hearing picking up the soft sound from across the room. The weather report on the news was going on about the first big summer storm that was screaming it's way toward New York. Heavy winds, torrential rain, and strong thunder and lightning threatened power outages and people in upstate and more rural areas should really batten down and ride it out. Idly, Bucky wondered if Steve still hated thunder. When he was still just a little guy, thunder had been the only thing in the world that scared him. Not some Johnny thrice his size, not all the times he'd nearly suffocated in his own body, not the pneumonia and the sickness, but thunder. The loud booms always made him skittish, to the point that he'd hiccup himself into a coughing fit and coughing led to choking, and choking usually led to Bucky running down three flights of stairs to the doctor who lived on the ground floor of the apartment to help poor, sick Steve.

There were so many memories, all flooding in at once, all screaming for Bucky's attention. It was overwhelming, but pleasant, just all too much for one sitting.

"Buck?"

Steve's breath was warm (and classically _heinous_. A lot of things and changed about Steve Rogers over the decades but his morning breath was _not_ one of those things) against the ruined skin near his metal arm and Bucky's nose crinkled.

"Better brush those teeth before you kiss me," he whispered so softly that even he strained to hear himself.

"Whatcha say?" Steve asked sleepily, shifting to sit upright. Normally Steve would have caught those mousy soft words, but his senses weren't firing on all cylinders yet, for that, Bucky was a little thankful.

He hadn't really been speaking to Steve, but reciting a memory that jammed itself into the front of his mind. Their tiny New York City apartment, a hot summer morning and Bucky had, uncharacteristically, woken up before Steve. He was babbling on in his sleep and still talking when he woke up and Bucky was _goddamn offended_ by the breath coming out of that tiny kid. _Better brush those teeth before you kiss me_ , he'd said, laughing at Steve's offended, sleepy glare. He'd let Steve kiss him anyway, dragon breath and all, because he loved that little punk no matter what he smelled like.

"Nothin'," Bucky said. "There's a storm coming. You still don't like thunder?"

"Doesn't bother me so much anymore," Steve murmured. "You gonna be okay?"

He hadn't really thought about that. Too busy worrying about Steve. "We'll see. They're saying heavy rain, thunder, and lightning. Lightning might bother me..."

Bucky frowned at the realization. Lightning, like the electric sparks through his brain all those years. He stiffened at the thought, his back protesting the sudden movement after being prone in an odd position for several hours. It made Steve more alert as he shifted to wedge his leg between them, brushing Bucky's hair off his cheek.

"I got you, Buck. Whatever you need, I got you." Steve said.

"I know," he murmured. "I just wanna be normal ya know? I don't want to have to be this way."

"I know, but normal takes time. It's not easy but you'll get here you just gotta be patient," Steve said. "You've made a lot of progress already. Just knowing that no one can make you do anything you don't want to is a big win, Buck. You're doing just fine."

"Hm, I guess so," Bucky said, rubbing at his bare stomach with his metal hand. "I'm hungry."

"I can make breakfast," Steve said. "Whatdaya want?"

Bucky shrugged. "Dunno... but... maybe I can make it? There's this weird taste in the back of my mouth, like something there but it's not really there. Something I remember eating, and I liked it. I can smell it, too, if I think about it real hard."

"What's it taste like?" Steve asked.

"Sweet and wet," Bucky scrunched his nose up, rubbing his stomach again. "But it's warm. I remember...my ma used to make it for us on Sunday's after church. We'd always wait for it, you and me and my sisters. That was so long ago... why do I remember that?"

"Happens to me too," Steve said, smiling faintly. "Sometimes I remember my ma sitting on my bed when I was sick, just reading to me. I remember the way she smelled, like roses and peaches."

"I remember her. She was always so good to me," Bucky said. "When I'd sneak up the fire escape into your room, she'd always bring an extra sandwich for lunch, like she knew I'd be there."

"Ma loved you, just like you were her own." Steve said.

Bucky smiled, a soft, nostalgic thing. "I miss her. I miss my ma and my sisters too."

"Me too, pal, me too."

Bucky sighed and pushed up to his feet, his knees protesting the sudden movement. Steve followed him, as he walked toward the kitchen and Steve continued on to the bedroom, finding a pair of soft pants to slide on over his boxers. Bucky didn't seem bothered by standing around in his underwear, and if he was comfortable, Steve wasn't going to object.

Bucky was standing with his head stuck in the pantry when Steve came back to the kitchen. He was clutching a box of pancake mix in his metal hand while he rooted around, mumbling to himself. It was an oddly endearing sight, Steve decided as he sat at the kitchen table, Bucky in nothing but his underwear, digging through the pantry like he was looking for a midnight snack. The poor thing nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around and saw Steve sitting at the table, staring at him with that sweet, adoring expression.

"Make some noise next time, will ya," Bucky huffed. "Scared me half to death."

"Sorry," Steve smiled. "Looking for something special in there?"

Bucky shrugged, "Yeah, but I can't remember what," he said and studied the box of pancake mix in his hand. "I can make this?"

"Sure, pancakes are easy," Steve said. "That's what your ma used to make us. Pancakes and peanut butter and she always had strawberries or bananas. Your sister was allergic to strawberries though, the little one was. So she always ate bananas with her pancakes."

Bucky's face crinkled for a moment, like he was thinking very hard. "I can't remember her. I know who she is but I can't remember her face. Did she look like me?"

Steve nodded, smiling fondly. "All you Barnes kids kinda looked alike. You all had dark hair; most of you had blue eyes, except the little one. She had brown eyes like your pop."

"I don't remember their names," Bucky frowned. "Do you think I'll ever remember?"

"I think you will. It takes time after all you've been through," Steve said. "Don't worry. I didn't remember much when I came out of the ice. It took months."

Bucky nodded but his stare was far away. "Everyone we knew is dead, and we're alive. I don't even know what to do with that."

"I know what you mean," Steve said. "But...let's leave it alone for now, huh? I thought you were making me pancakes."

Bucky smiled through the haze of memories. "Yeah, yeah. We got any peanut butter?"

* * *

It was a spectacle watching Bucky make breakfast for the two of them. He'd read the directions on the back of the box no less than five times and, with a determined set to his jaw, went about collecting items to mix with. He shooed Steve away whenever he got up to help, wanting to do it by himself and Steve gave up after the second try, reclining at the table as Bucky wandered about the kitchen, familiarizing himself with where things were and finding the tools he needed.

Ten minutes later there was a pile of slightly oblong, but fluffy pancakes on a plate beside the stove with little globs of peanut butter oozing out the sides. Bucky had sworn up a storm because he'd gotten peanut butter in the joints of his metal fingers and spent a disproportionate amount of time sucking on his index finger trying to clean it out. Steve pretended not to notice, pretended like his gut wasn't fluttering like there were a million butterflies in there, pretended he wasn't remembering when Bucky used to do that for an entirely different reason.

"I think you might need something other than your own mouth to clean that thing up, pal," Steve said, his voice a little tighter than he expected.

Bucky's shoulders slumped in that sort of annoyed, defeated kind of way he used to do when he realized arguing with Steve was pointless. He turned to face him, his metal finger hanging out of the corner of his mouth and the plate of pancakes in his flesh hand.

"Shut up," he mumbled around his finger as he came to join Steve at the table.

"You gonna eat that finger too, Buck?" Steve laughed.

"Shut up," Bucky made a face at him and wiped his metal hand on the side of his boxers. "I like peanut butter, okay?"

Steve had a good laugh at that, deep down from his toes because it was such a thing his Bucky would do. He almost didn't hear Bucky threatening to poke him with a fork if he didn't stop laughing over the sound of his own voice. He couldn't remember a time when he'd laughed this hard without being out of breath and gasping. The feeling was warm and solid in his chest; just happy to have his guy back and getting closer and closer to the way they used to be.


	6. Storms

The storm streaked into their area by noon, darkening the skies, pouring rain, and bringing thunder loud enough to shake the walls of the house. Bucky was sitting on the edge of a windowsill in the living room, watching through the curtains as the rain turned the front lawn to a muddy mess. The lightning hadn't started yet, and Bucky was glad for that. He felt a strange peace watching the rain beat down on the ground and listening to the booming thunder. Steve was lounging on the couch behind him, reading some tome of a book with a steaming mug of coffee beside him. Bucky didn't like coffee, he decided after tasting some of Steve's. It was bitter and harsh on his tongue no matter how much he'd sweetened it and added cream.

The first streak of lightning zinged through the sky and Bucky stared at it, frowning as he blinked and saw the crackling blue light behind his eyes. He shifted away from the windowsill, retreating to the couch beside Steve. The lightning stained behind his eyes like the electric currents in his brain and Bucky shook his head, trying to knock it loose.

"Alright?" Steve asked, glancing over at him.

"Lightning. I don't like it," Bucky muttered.

Bucky settled against Steve's side, leaning his head on his shoulder like he was reading the book along with him, but his eyes were far away, staring unseeing at the print on the page. Steve marked his place and closed the book, shifting to lightly brush his lips over Bucky's forehead. Bucky made a content little sigh and snuggled into Steve like some big, cybernetic kitten and he just smiled, and wrapped an arm around him, enjoying the closeness. Before, everything was reversed, he'd been the one to meld into Bucky's side and dig his head into the crook of his neck, letting the shock of his hair tickle his nose until Bucky sneezed and jostled Steve so hard they couldn't stop laughing.

"Hey Steve," Bucky murmured. "Do you like being big now?"

 _What an odd question_. Steve thought, before shrugging a little and saying: "I like not being sick all the time, and feeling like a strong wind could blow me over. I like being able to breathe real easy and not needing adrenaline shots every other day. I've gotten used to it, I guess. It was kinda strange at first though; I didn't know how to work a body this big, or strong. I put too much effort into things like when I was small and broke a lot of stuff before I realized I didn't have to do that anymore. Lotta broken jam jars, I'll tell ya that."

Bucky snorted into Steve's armpit, and the light laugh that came out of him made Steve grin. "You never could open those damn things."

"Nah, good thing I always had a big, strong fella around to do it for me," Steve said.

"We were always like this, huh? Closer than friends." Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, "Yeah, pretty much. I honestly can't remember a time we weren't back then. Except for maybe when we first met."

Bucky sat up and he was grinning when he looked at Steve. "I remember that! You were just this tiny little thing, scrappy as can be. You were fighting some kid about someone else's lunch money..."

"Jimmy Walker," Steve laughed. "Yeah, he stole a second grader's lunch money on the way to school. I thought he was a jerk. Poor kid looked like he hadn't eaten in days anyway."

"Jimmy Walker almost punched your lights out. What where you? Seven, eight?" Bucky said.

"Something like that. But he was a bully." Steve said.

"A bully who coulda knocked your pretty little head off," Bucky said. "So you picked a fight with him and he shoved your face in the dirt."

"Until my knight in dirty sneakers showed up."

"Ah, that kid was a shit anyway. I smacked him one good and you got that poor kid's money back," Bucky said fondly. "You always were a prince, Steve Rogers."

"Nah, I just didn't like bullies. Still don't," Steve said. "But you were always there. Digging me out of a hole."

"To be honest, at first I felt bad for ya. Just this wisp of a kid getting the shit kicked outta him every day. Then I was confused cos I thought maybe you liked getting beat up cos you kept coming back for more," Bucky shook his head, chuckling. "Then I realized you were just a good guy, trying to help out even if it wasn't your fight. I felt bad for you; you ate lunch alone a lot. So I sat down with you one time and you were just real sweet."

"I remember when I first realized I loved you," Steve said distantly, glancing over at Bucky. "I was about thirteen and we were out of school for Christmas. You walked three blocks in knee-deep snow just to bring me my present because I was sick. You slept on my floor because it started to snow again real bad and my ma wouldn't let you walk back home. Just the fact that you did it and you spent Christmas night with me even though I was sick and all. You made me feel real special like no one else ever had. I knew you were into girls and all, but it just sorta hit me that the way you're supposed to feel about girls, I felt about you."

"Did you ever like girls before?" Bucky asked.

"I liked 'em well enough, just none of 'em liked me," Steve chuckled. "I still do, it's just...I like you the most."

"Plenty of girls like you now," Bucky said.

"Nah, they like Captain America, not Steve. The only girl who liked Steve is gone now," he said.

"So you just quit girls, huh?" Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged, "Not necessarily, but I don't really need a girl now, do I?"

"Guess not," Bucky said, running his metal hand through his hair. "I thought you were cute when we were kids. Can't remember how old we were when I realized I had just fell in love with you...I just knew I was. You were always so sweet, just so good and you never gave up on me. I think it just clicked one day, sure, I liked girls just as well, but none of them ever really dug down for me like you did. None of 'em stuck behind my eyes when I tried to sleep, none of 'em made me smile like you did."

"It's a shame we couldn't be like this back then, isn't it?" Steve asked.

"Sure, but we did it anyway, right? I remember we used to live together, before the war. You worked at that little art supply place down the way and I was working at the docks hauling cargo off the boats," Bucky paused, his face scrunching up as he thought. "We slept in the same bed and we kissed a lot."

Steve felt his cheeks turn red and if Bucky noticed, he didn't say anything about it. Just flinched lightly when he saw a flash of lightning through a crack in the curtains. Steve glanced over at him and Bucky was waiting for his response with wide, expectant eyes.

"We did," Steve said, and a frown overtook his expression. "But we couldn't be like we are now, not then. Not out in the open like this. We woulda been run down in the streets if we'd been this close out in public when we were living together. Hell, one of our neighbors was suspicious as it was. She kept threatening to call the police on the queers next door."

Bucky wrinkled his nose. "That's dumb. I don't care who knows I love you."

"Me either, Buck," Steve said. "Times are different now. It's one of the better parts of this time that we can be open about each other and not many people will bother us about it. Sure, there's still some who aren't keen, but who cares? I've got my guy and you're all I need."

"Isn't it weird though? For you anyway," Bucky frowned, leaning away from Steve just a little. "Captain America and his creepy, broken, murderer boyfriend. We can't really be out in the open; the whole world thinks I'm a monster who just kills people because I can. HYDRA made me do all those things and I can't even stand out and proud with you. Stark will try to kill me... again."

Steve frowned deeply. "You're not broken..."

"Well I ain't whole either," Bucky interrupted. "I'm missing a few pieces and you know it."

"It's not your fault Buck," Steve said. "Plus, I don't care about any of that. I care about you."

"You were so sweet when you were little," Bucky murmured. "Feisty, but always so sweet. Always wanted to be near me and I liked it."

Steve's frown deepened, an odd feeling overcoming him. "Lemme ask you something, and you be honest with me, ya hear?"

"Yeah alright. What?" Bucky asked.

"Did you like me better when I was little? You...you just seem to miss it a lot." Steve said.

Bucky eased away a little further, his face scrunching in disbelief. "Are you asking me if I don't like you _now_? Is that what you're asking me Steven Rogers? I don't have any goddamn memories of you being big except trying to kill you! How am I supposed to compare the two? I don't even know who you are now!"

Bucky surged to his feet, agitated now. He flinched back from another streak of lightning and stomped over to the window to yank the curtain closed so he couldn't see it anymore.

"That's not what I'm asking–"

"It sure sounds like it." Bucky snapped.

"I'm still Steve," he whispered, his eyes down on his hands in his lap. "I'm just not so breakable anymore."

"But you think I don't like _this_ you. You think I prefer you soft and fragile, right? Don't throw yourself a fucking pity party, Steve. I never pitied you," Bucky said, his tone venomous. "I _loved_ you. I still love you. I don't even know you, fuck I don't even know myself and I still love you! You broke me and you fixed me all at the same time."

"Bucky you're not broken–"

Bucky growled, a deep, animal sound that shocked Steve's eyes up to him. "Don't sweet talk me! You always do that! _You always do that!_ Let me be what I am! You always looked at me like I was this perfect angel, like I could never do anything wrong. That's not me! That's _you_! That's how you've always been to me. I was always so goddamn afraid of letting you down, so fucking scared of it because I thought you _needed_ me..."

Bucky stopped short, gripping his hair in both his hands as he dropped to the floor in a heap. Steve made to go to him, but Bucky had yelled, really yelled at him to back off and stay away. He was in the spin cycle of a thousand bloody memories, screaming death and flashes of Steve's small, delicate face. Even when they took everything, when HYDRA emptied him out and crammed steel and murder back in, Steve's face was there, that good little thing, his tiny, secret thread of hope. Steve had done so much for him, had taken _that goddamn serum_ for him. He changed the boy he loved to come running into war, to dismantling a HYDRA base damn near singlehandedly when he found out Bucky was gone. And he thought Steve needed him? No, he'd needed Steve; all along he'd needed Steve. Bucky was inadequate in his own mind, thought he was protecting this little wispy boy but Steve had always been bigger than that. Bigger than his skin and bones, now he just looked like it.

Bucky remembered the first moment when all his hope died, when he couldn't see that little golden thing behind his eyes anymore. When he truly became the soldier, the asset. It was before D.C., they'd scrubbed him especially hard then, put him into cryo starving and wet, froze him deep. When they pulled him out, Steve was gone, dead, dead, dead. The rest of him died that day along with it. Any minuscule piece of humanity he had left was gone, shredded and spat out.

Then Steve broke him, and fixed him. Made him a little bit human again. Six little words had shattered the blank nightmare; he saw Steve's delicate, angular face, bleeding all over like he'd been in a fight. He saw the blood on his stupid metal knuckles; saw those pretty red lips, all split and bleeding. Those lips that used to kiss him sweet and soft, anchor him to the world. He'd snapped, splintered, scattered in the wind, asset and man all over again.

"Why do you even want me around," Bucky whispered, a broken thing, his voice strained and hurt. "I never helped you, not really. You never needed me. I needed you. I'm selfish I'm... I'm everything they made me. It's always been in there, they just pulled it out and made it bad."

Steve felt tears sting his eyes. "Goddammit _James_."

Bucky's head shot up, his eyes round and wide, pupils blown out from crying and remembering and hurting. "What did you call me?"

"James," Steve said stiffly. "Cos you're not acting like Bucky."

He cringed like he'd been hit, a tear stuttered its way down his cheek before he wiped it away roughly with his flesh hand. "I'm too many people. I don't know which one to be. Which one do you want? Please, Steve just tell me. I'll be whoever you want. I'll be whatever you need... please, please tell me."

Bucky was damn near sobbing, his metal hand close to tearing his hair out. He was shaking and rocking something fierce, chanting in a broken whimper that he didn't know who he was, he needed someone to tell him who to be now. Everything inside Steve flattened and cracked, regret filled him up like too much water. He shouldn't have snapped at him, shouldn't have pushed him into this position. He hadn't meant to throw him into turmoil; he just wanted to ask a question, not out of meanness, but real curiosity. Bucky was in a delicate place, teetering on the precipice of so many different memories, so many emotions he didn't have to deal with for so long and Steve had shoved him over, made him panicky and upset. Steve felt sick, sick of himself that he'd let that insecurity taint him enough to hurt Bucky with it. Sick that he'd pulled that toxic little thread, and it turned into a rope that he'd cracked Bucky around the back with it.

Steve dropped to his knees, crawling close to wrap Bucky in his arms. He didn't fight this time, just shuddered and leaned his big, big body against Steve's and asked again, ' _who do you want me to be_?'

"Who do you want to be? You be that person," Steve whispered. "I'm so sorry Buck. I never should have said that to you. I never should have brought it up. I did need you; I've always needed you. I did all those things because I couldn't live without you. My life wasn't anything without you, my Bucky, my whole entire world. That's you baby, you're everything I need."

"Stop it," Bucky moaned miserably. "That's too much. Pressure, I can't...I'm not ready...I'm not good. Never good enough for you."

Steve sat back, trying gently to unwind Bucky's metal fingers from his hair so he didn't pull it out for real. There were already little brown strands stuck in the joints and Steve frowned, holding the cold metal in his hands. He kissed each of those metal fingers, each knuckle, each little plate on the top of his hand. Bucky made a strangled noise, somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

"I'm sorry Bucky. I'm so sorry," Steve whispered. "Whatever you are is good enough for me. Whatever you want to be. I love it, I love you."

"I can feel that," Bucky whispered. "I can feel you kissing that hand. At least... it's like I can feel it. Pressure, warmth...it's new. It's interesting."

"I'll kiss you wherever you want," Steve vowed, pressing his lips to his metal palm. "You're perfect for me, Bucky. You always have been."

"Too much," he murmured. "I don't like it when you say that. I'm not perfect."

Steve nodded. "Okay. You're good for me, how about that? Can we start there?"

"Yeah, that's good. I'm okay with that."

* * *

Bucky was sleeping after their outburst in the living room. He was curled up in their bed, taking up as little space as he possibly could, clutching a pillow in his arms. His breathing was a little erratic, and Steve realized he was probably dreaming, or standing on the edge of a nightmare.

He felt awful, pushing at him the way he had, even if he hadn't meant to. Bucky was the fragile one now, his head all scrambled, trying to piece his memories back together. He wasn't quite whole yet, and Steve had jabbed at the leaky parts. He would have a hard time forgiving himself for that.

The storm was still raging outside, battering the house with wind and rain. Thunder was still rumbling like an angry animal, and Steve had closed all the curtains so Bucky couldn't see the lightning. It'd been so quiet in the house the last few days, just them and their feet shuffling around together, that Steve was shocked to hear his phone (his normal phone, not the twin to the burner he'd given Tony) vibrate from the kitchen. Sam's name was glowing on the screen when he reached it, swiping a finger across the screen to answer.

"Hey." Steve said.

"Oh don't you hey me, soldier. Where the hell have you been?" Sam said, his tone was a little annoyed, but teasing all the same.

"Away, I guess. I wanted to give you guys your space," Steve said, easing down onto a kitchen chair. "It's been a rough day."

"Yeah," Sam softened immediately. "What's going on?"

"Just not a good day," Steve sighed.

"Being vague isn't how we roll around here, Steve," Sam said. "How's your vanilla Popsicle doing? He still got freezer burn?"

Steve laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth so he wouldn't wake Bucky. Sam was chuckling on the other end, and Steve missed his wit, his ability to pull genuine snorting laughter out of anyone. Sam had kept him sane while they were searching for Bucky after the disaster in D.C.; he was a true friend.

"He's okay. He's home with me," Steve said when he recovered. "Had a bad night last night, a bad afternoon. I think I scared him. I asked him a stupid question and he had a bit of a fit. I know I shouldn't get mad at him for it, but I couldn't help it...he was talking crazy..."

"He can't help it, Steve," Sam said chidingly. "He's still trying to figure out his place in the world. He's been through a lot."

Steve sighed, "I know. I didn't mean to, it just kinda happened. He kept saying he didn't know who he was, that he was too many people. He wanted me to tell him who to be. I can't do that to him, Sam."

"Good. You shouldn't. You gotta go easy on him, but don't baby him. He's got a lot of trauma in his head," Sam said. "Don't put too much pressure on him. He's probably remembering a lot of different things at once. He's overwhelmed and he's gotta take it slow."

"I feel bad about it all. He's asleep now, and he doesn't sleep very well. He has a crazy nightmare last night, punched a hole in the headboard. Sam it's so hard to watch him like that." Steve said.

"I know. I know it is Steve, but you gotta stay solid for him. He needs you and he needs you bad," Sam said, sighing softly. "It's hard to watch someone you love go through this. But you gotta stand strong."

"You knew?" Steve asked.

"Oh sweet jumping Jesus of course I knew," Sam laughed heartily. "It wasn't hard to tell. You two got a way about each other. You move the same, gravitate to each other like magnets. Hell, you let the guy shoot you three times, bash your damn face in. If you didn't love him you'd be stupid or crazy."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, you're right. He's my whole world, Sam."

"Ugh, don't go getting all drippy on me," Sam laughed. "I didn't call to hear you snot over your boyfriend."

"So why did you call?" Steve asked.

"To check on you, and I guess, by extension, freezer burn too. That's what friends do." Sam said.

"I'm alright. It's nice to be home, not out trying to save the world," Steve said. "It's tough though, but Bucky being here makes it better. So how are you?"

"I'm livin' and not in a floating prison thanks to you," Sam said. "More than I can ask for, that's for sure. Dodging Stark ain't easy, but when you're used to living quiet, it's not so bad."

"Have you talked to the others?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, Clint packed up and moved, considering Tony knew where he was. Scott disappeared into whatever hole he likes to crawl into. Wanda... I dunno man, she's the wild card." Sam said.

"Is she safe?"

"I'd say. Last I saw her, Vision had her. I don't think he'd let anything happen to her," Sam replied.

"I guess that's good," Steve said. "You talked to Natasha?"

"She found me. Wanted to make sure I was all right. You?"

"Yeah, she's been here a few times." Steve said.

"Oh but I can't come visit? I see how it is!" Sam joked.

"You're always welcome here Sam," Steve said. "Any time."

"I thought you'd say that, I'm just teasing you man," Sam said. "It's good to hear your voice again. I'm glad you're doing good."

"Thanks. And you too," Steve said. "I'll get you the info secure, come visit us sometime."

"You just let me know when the honeymoon is over and I'll be there," Sam laughed.

"Why does everyone say that?" Steve chuckled. "That's exactly what Nat said."

"Cos we know man! No one wants to walk in to two naked super soldiers all right? It'll get to that point with you two and no one wants to see the hanging bits when we're comin over for dinner!"

"Sam!" Steve snorted.

"You're laughing cos you know it's the truth!" He said. "Listen, I'll let you go. Take care of that big metal lug, will ya? He needs you, Steve."

"I will, you know I will," Steve said.

"Yeah, yeah I just gotta make sure," Sam said. "We'll talk again soon, Steve. Maybe I'll see you?"

"I'd like that, both of those," Steve said. "Talk to you soon, Sam."

"Yup, take it easy, Steve."

Steve blew out a breath after hanging up with Sam. It really was nice to hear his friend's voice again, to know he was safe and doing well out in the world. It was even better to hear that his other friends were on the mend after everything that happened. Knowing they were safe took a huge weight off of Steve's shoulders.

"Hey."

Steve jumped when he heard Bucky's soft, sleepy voice. Bucky was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, in nothing but a pair of Steve's soft pants. His hair was sticking out all over and he looked warm and hazy. He was rubbing his eye with his flesh hand, small and exhausted.

"Hey," Steve said. "What're you doing up? You just went to sleep an hour ago."

"Heard you talkin. I'm a light sleeper, had to be," Bucky mumbled, keeping his distance and rubbing his eyes till they were red. "Are you still mad at me?"

"I wasn't ever mad at you, Buck," Steve said gently. "I-I just...I made a mistake. I shouldn't have asked you that stupid question. I shouldn't have snapped at you–"

"You called me James," Bucky frowned. "I didn't like that. I don't know who James is. I'm Bucky, I've always been Bucky."

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I won't ever do it again."

Bucky nodded, "You know, I didn't like you better when you were small. I don't like you better because you're big. I love you all the same no matter what size you are. I just don't know big Steve; I never got the chance to, not really, not like this. I knew big Steve as Captain America, shooting guns and giving orders, but that's not Steve."

"You're right," Steve said. "I want you to get to know me like this. I hope I'm still the same as I used to be."

"You're sweet still, you big dummy," Bucky smiled, a soft, sleepy thing. "That hasn't changed. Come over here and hug me punk."

Steve grinned and did as Bucky asked. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close into his chest. Steve kissed his forehead, his nose, and the corners of his mouth. Soft little pecks like he used to do, when Bucky had had a hard day at work and was sore and tired. Little angel kisses, Bucky used to call them, the light things Steve pressed into his skin when he didn't want to disturb him much, or when he was being bashful about something.

"Will you come lay with me?" Bucky asked. "I'm still tired but I'm not gonna get more than an hour at a time if you're walking around...that and I really just want you next to me. Please?"

"Anything you need," Steve said, angel kissing his cheeks and chin. "C'mon, let's get some rest."


	7. Stray

The lights were out when Steve woke up again. White noise hummed loud in his ears behind the sound of Bucky snoring against his chest. Bucky was damn near wrapped around him, one leg wedged between both of Steve's, his flesh arm draped over his stomach, and his hair tickling his nose. Thunder was rumbling further off in the distance but rain was still pouring down around them.

Bucky was peaceful in his sleep this time, no fitful little whimpers, no tossing and turning, in fact, he was leaden against Steve's chest, sleeping the sleep of the dead. He deserved it, after all those years. He deserved a good sleep. Steve shifted just slightly to check his watch, it was nearing six in the evening and his stomach chose that moment to protest loud enough to wake the dead.

Apparently he had, too. Bucky stuttered awake, groaning softly and Steve could feel his lashes brush against his chest.

"Steve?"

"Shh, go back to sleep, Buck."

"M'good," Bucky slurred sleepily but pressed himself against Steve a little closer. "Can't sleep anymore, I'll have nightmares. It's goddamn hot in here."

"Yeah, well you're about a hundred degrees yourself bub," Steve joked. "I'm sweating over here."

Bucky groaned and reluctantly peeled himself away from Steve. "Whys it so hot?"

"Lights are out, knocked out the air conditioning," Steve said. "The storm is still going."

"It's been hours," Bucky complained, blowing his hair out of his face. "I forgot how summer storms could be."

"Tell me about it," Steve said, rolling to his side to kiss Bucky on the chin. "I'm hungry, how about you?"

Bucky paused for a moment, resting his metal hand against his stomach as if trying to speak to it for the answer. Steve chuckled and dotted his cheeks with soft kisses.

"I'd rather you really kissed me," Bucky murmured. "You said you'd kiss me wherever I want."

Steve nodded and shifted a little closer, pressing his nose against Bucky's cheek. "Yeah I did. Where do you want me to kiss you?"

Bucky didn't answer with words, just turned his head and pressed his mouth against Steve's, sighing through his nose at the soft feel of his lips. Steve smiled against Bucky's mouth; it was warm from sleep and felt like home as their lips moved together, a rhythm they'd never truly lost. Bucky was dizzy with it, heat and Steve sweet against his lips. He opened his mouth just slightly, a silent beg for more and Steve plunged in immediately. His tongue swept through Bucky's mouth, tasting his warmth even as their teeth clashed awkwardly. Bucky moaned into it, pressing his body closer, threading his flesh fingers into Steve's soft, messy hair, holding him close.

Steve was sweating, drowning in the heat from the house and Bucky's closeness, his skin felt sticky but he wouldn't back away. Bucky was eager, kissing him back with fervor. He let Bucky be the one to pull away, mainly because he didn't want to, but also because he wanted Bucky to make the decision. He wanted him to call the shots with their intimacy; it was his sanity on the line, really. Steve just wanted him to be comfortable.

"You really gotta brush your teeth," Bucky murmured, chuckling softly against Steve's lips. "I love ya all the same though, you swamp monster."

"You're so incredibly romantic," Steve laughed and angel kissed Bucky's lips. "You shouldn't be talking about anyone's breath though, geez."

Bucky laughed, light and airy. "Shut up, punk. You've always had swamp breath in the morning."

"Well technically it's not morning, so it does it count," Steve laughed. "It's nearly six at night."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "It's that late? I slept that long?"

"Yeah, got you a solid five hours pal," Steve said. "When's the last time you slept that long on your own?"

Bucky snorted. "Probably 1935."

Bucky rolled onto his back, resting his metal arm behind his head. Steve's eyes followed him as he moved, taking in the light shimmer of sweat on the muscles of his abdomen, the way his chest rose and fell gently as he breathed easy. His gaze skidded to a halt below his waist, catching the way the pants he wore had tugged down just below a modest level, exposing the ridges and dips of his hipbones. Steve pretended he couldn't see the outline of Bucky's semi-hard cock pressed against the thin material of his pants. He pretended that sight hadn't made him sweat a little more and lick his lips that were suddenly way too dry. Bucky was oblivious to it all, or maybe he wasn't, and he was purposefully making Steve sweat it out; he'd always been a little cocky like that. Steve couldn't take his eyes off that package of hard flesh that he suddenly, desperately wanted in his hand, his mouth, inside his body.

Steve shifted his body and sat upright, partially to give him something to do, partially to conceal his own growing erection. This wasn't the most appropriate time to be eyeballing Bucky's dick, not after the day they'd had. Plus, his stomach started growling something fierce, that super soldier appetite screaming to be sated.

"You okay?" Bucky asked.

He was looking at Steve through the fringe of his hair that had fallen into his eyes, looking sweet as could be with those stupid red lips all swollen from kissing and Steve almost wanted to fling himself out the window with how much he wanted that man.

"Hungry," Steve said, his voice a little choked. "You hungry?"

"Yeah. I feel like I could eat a country," Bucky said, turning and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Let's hope I can actually keep it down today."

* * *

Bucky ate significantly less than he did before, just a couple of super sized sandwiches that Steve made—he probably could have eaten two or three more, but he didn't want to push his luck—and drank damn near a gallon of water like he hadn't had a drop in months. His stomach had rumbled ominously for several minutes but he managed to keep his dinner down.

They lounged on the couch together, Bucky draped over Steve's lap and Steve's fingers combing through the length of his hair as they watched the rain through the windows. The lightning had stopped and Bucky was peaceful again, watching the rain.

"I like your hair like this," Steve said absently. "It's nice."

"I'm alright with it," Bucky said. "It's itchy sometimes."

Steve brushed the long parts of his hair away from his forehead. "Pull it back sometime. I think it'll look nice like that."

"Pull it back like a girl? Get outta here." Bucky laughed.

"Nah, guys wear their hair back in ponytails all the time nowadays," Steve said. "It looks...good."

"You like guys with long hair then?" Bucky teased.

"I guess so," Steve said bashfully. "Guys never would have been able to do that back in our day."

Bucky laughed. "No way. You'd get sucker punched by the first macho dummy that laid eyes on ya."

Steve laughed along with him, still petting his hair gently. Bucky snuggled down a little further into Steve's lap, rubbing his flesh fingertips along his kneecap.

"Can I ask you something, Steve?" Bucky said.

"Of course."

"How did you still love me? After all this time and all the stuff that happened. We were apart for so long and... and you just still felt that way?" Bucky asked.

"You were my first love, Buck," Steve replied easily. "You're one of the two people I ever loved like that. I never stopped loving you just because of time or distance or whatever. It just all came back when I saw you again."

"But I tried to hurt you. I tried to _kill_ you." Bucky said.

"That wasn't you. None of that was you," Steve said. "You never woulda hurt me if HYDRA wasn't in your head. You've never hurt me before, not once ever."

"I'm luckier than any guy deserves to be," Bucky whispered, his fingers digging gently at Steve's knee. "I had my body used for all sorts of mayhem all these years and I come out of it and still got the best guy in the world waiting for me and he loves me even though sometimes I hate myself."

"Buck..."

"It's not everyday. But sometimes, I really do. I get so antsy in my skin sometimes, like I'm waiting for something bad to happen," Bucky said. "I know no one can control me anymore, that the words don't matter but it's such a hard thing to let go of."

"I know it has to be and I'll never push you to do anything faster than you feel like you're ready for," Steve said. "We go at your pace Bucky. Whatever feels good for you."

' _That means no sex Steve, not yet. No matter how damn good he looks_.' He thought, only sighing a little at the idea of waiting.

"Thank you," Bucky said. "You've always been so patient with me and I know it's gotta be hard to deal with me sometimes."

"You're worth it all, every single bit."

"I'm so lucky. So goddamn lucky," Bucky murmured. "Love you so much Stevie."

Steve grinned, a laugh bubbling in his chest. "You haven't called me that in...well god knows how long."

Bucky wiggled onto his back, smiling too. "I thought you used to hate it. So I didn't do it very often. Thought you thought it made you feel littler and I didn't want to offend you."

Steve hummed. "Nah, I thought it was sweet. Special. You didn't say it very often and it was something real good when you did. I liked it that way."

"Okay," Bucky said. "We'll keep it that way then."

Steve brushed his hand over Bucky's forehead, sweeping away errant strands of hair and exposing his full, smiling face. His lips were rosy and full and Steve wanted to kiss him again.

A loud humming sound broke through their comfortable silence, the lights in the kitchen flickered on and the television blinked to life. The central air started whirring, blowing cool air through the vent behind the couch.

"Looks like we got power again," Steve said. "At least we won't be so sticky anymore."

Bucky rolled off the couch, crouching for a brief moment in a runner's stance before pushing up to his feet. He stretched, his pants slipping down to expose those sinful hipbones again. Steve looked away, feeling his cheeks heating up. God he missed Bucky.

"You sure you're okay?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah I'm fine," Steve glanced over again and Bucky was standing normally, his face curious as he looked at Steve. "I love you, jerk."

Bucky eyed him, a little dubious before crossing the room and kissing his forehead. "I'm gonna go shower. I smell like a foot.

"I wasn't gonna say anything..."

"Shut up punk," Bucky laughed as he headed toward the bathroom. He paused halfway down the hall before turning back and poking his head into the living room. "Hey..."

"Yeah?"

Bucky paused, chewing his lip like he wanted to say something. Instead he smiled, that brilliant thing when he was real happy. "I love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

Two days later, the rain had finally stopped and it was a sweltering June afternoon in rural New York. Bucky had ventured into the backyard, looking for fresh air that he'd been missing. Steve was making lunch in the kitchen when Bucky came barreling in through the back door, followed by a curious sound of panting behind him.

"Steve," Bucky called. "We have a situation."

Steve leaned out of the kitchen and Bucky was crouching in the hallway with his arms around a mid-sized dog. A beagle, from what Steve could tell. The little pup was dancing on his hind legs, licking at Bucky's face excitedly.

"Buck...?"

"He crawled under the fence," Bucky said, scratching the dog behind the ears. "He doesn't have tags or anything so I think he might be a stray. Look how skinny he is."

Bucky wasn't wrong. The poor little guy had ribs showing through and despite his excitement to be getting attention, he looked worse for wear; one of his ears was nicked and he had a just-healed scratch on his left hind leg. He was licking Bucky's nose and he'd sat down on the floor to make it easier for the dog to get at him. Bucky pet him gently with his flesh hand, careful to keep the metal one away.

"He seems to like you," Steve couldn't help but smile. Bucky looked so exhilarated. "He looks like he might have been in a fight."

"Yeah, he's a little scrappy, but I like him. He doesn't seem to mind strangers, he came right up to me," Bucky said, rubbing the dog's belly. "Not like we really have neighbors so I doubt he belongs to anyone. Steve... Stevie can we keep him?"

"Oh no fair with the nickname," Steve said, but he couldn't say no to Bucky. Not when he was giving him that big, wide-eyed look with a sweet smile. "Alright, alright. We can keep him."

Bucky's face lit up like Christmas morning and he jumped to his feet, closing the short distance between he and Steve to kiss him excitedly. The dog yipped, snuffling around at Steve's bare feet. Steve let out a little giggle when the pup licked his toes, panting happily.

"What're you gonna name him?" Steve asked.

"Hmm," Bucky sat back down on the floor and the dog crawled into his lap. "I think he looks like a Beau. What do you think?"

"Beau? Huh, I like it," Steve grinned. "Beau it is."

"Poor guy looks like he could use some water," Bucky eased up from the floor, gathering Beau in his arms. "I guess we'll need to get him food and stuff..."

"I'm make a venture out later on when it cools off some," Steve said. "But we can at least give him some water and people food for now."

Bucky nodded and carried Beau into the kitchen. Steve took a bowl down from the cabinet and filled it with cool water from the tap. Beau skidded for the bowl as soon as Bucky let him down, drinking noisily. Bucky dropped into a chair at the table, watching his new pet fondly as Steve went back to the salad he'd been making for lunch.

"There's some leftover chicken in the fridge if you wanna feed him," Steve said. "I bet he's hungry."

Bucky got up and crossed to the refrigerator, Beau had already lapped up half the bowl of water by the time Bucky sat the plate of cooked chicken on the floor next to him. He sniffed it curiously before taking a huge bite. Bucky only laughed and patted him on the head before moving over to Steve and wrapping his flesh arm around him; he pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

"Thank you."

"What for?" Steve asked.

"For letting me keep him," Bucky said. "I think it'll be nice to have him around."

"I think so too," Steve said. "It'll be like having a little furry kid."

Bucky laughed. "Yeah. But, uh, I guess we should probably take him to the vet at some point...or, I guess _you_ should take him. I probably shouldn't leave the house any time soon."

Steve frowned and turned himself in Bucky's grip. "Hey. It's okay. It's all still fresh, that's all. You're gonna be fine. You won't be stuck in here forever."

Bucky worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "Stark probably has all kinds of eyes out looking for me–"

"Bucky. Tony isn't going to come looking for you. He better not." Steve said firmly.

"Yeah but what if he does? What happens then? I killed his goddamn family and he hates everything about me," Bucky cringed. "You don't just let that go, Steve. You saw what he did to me and that was just the tip of the iceberg. He wasn't gonna stop until it was my head, I know it."

"I will not let Tony hurt you, Bucky," Steve said, gripping Bucky's upper arms gently. "He isn't going to come after you so long as I'm here, you hear me? No one but Nat knows we're here and she wouldn't rat on us."

"You trust the Widow like that?" Bucky asked.

"No, I trust Natasha like that," Steve said. "She's good, Buck, I swear to you. She's the whole reason we got outta that airport to begin with, remember?"

Bucky sighed. "Yeah I remember. I'm sorry...its just hard to really trust people for me, you understand, right?"

"Of course I do," Steve said. "It's okay. We'll take it slow. If you want her to come over sometime so you can get to know her, you just let me know. Sam wants to see us, too."

Bucky laughed. "Okay, fine. Sam I liked. But... sure, let's have her over sometime. It'll be nice to have some kind of other human here but you."

"Hey!"

Steve pinched Bucky's side and he only laughed and pecked Steve's lips lightly. "Just kidding. You know you're all I need. You and this hungry little guy down there."

Steve glanced over and Beau was gnawing on the chunk of chicken happily, his tail wagging like crazy. He really was a cute little guy, despite the bones showing through and parts of his fur being a little matted. Nothing that a few good meals and a nice bath couldn't fix. Bucky was right though, he would have to be taken to a vet sooner than later...maybe Natasha wouldn't mind doing it for them.

As if the thought of her had summoned her presence, Steve's phone vibrated on the counter beside him, Natasha's name lighting up with it. Beau barked wearily at the noise until Bucky crouched to soothe him and Steve tapped the phone and put it on speaker so he could get back to making lunch.

"Hey Nat." He said.

"Hey there," she said, her smoky voice light and happy sounding. "How's it going?"

"Good," Steve said, interrupted by Beau's yelping bark when Bucky tried to move his water bowl a little closer.

"Did I just hear something bark? How loud is your TV. I know you guys are old but jeez, I thought super soldiers had great hearing." Natasha joked.

"It's not the TV," Steve laughed. "Bucky found a stray earlier. We're gonna keep him."

"Domestic bliss," Natasha said. "How cute. What breed is he?"

"A beagle, I'm pretty sure."

"Good, good. Beagles are loyal dogs, he'll fit right in," Natasha said. "You boys need anything?"

"Well if you're in the area..."

"I might be," Natasha chuckled. "What can I get you?"

"Well Beau is gonna need some dog food and I guess a couple toys," Steve glanced over at Bucky; he was sitting in the floor with Beau, letting him playfully gnaw on his hand. "Buck, you need anything? Nat's treat."

"Excuse me!"

Bucky glanced up, his expression wary. "Plums. I'd really like some plums."

"Can you grab Bucky some plums?" Steve said.

"Sure, of course," Natasha said. "I'll see you in an hour or so."

"Thanks Nat," Steve said. "Hey, are you hungry? We were about to have lunch, I'll make extra for you."

"Wow, you really are domestic, Rogers," Natasha laughed. "Sounds good. See you soon."

"See you soon."

Steve's phone went black when Natasha hung up and he moved to the sink to wash off a few more vegetables. Bucky had drifted back to the table, Beau circling his feet until he settled on top of them, whining contently.

"She's coming here?" Bucky asked, biting his lip.

"Is that okay? I can call her back and tell her some other time. Jeez I should have asked you first Buck, I'm sorry." Steve said.

"It's alright. Just... don't be mad if I have to duck out for a bit, okay? It's not her fault, really but I don't know how long I can take being around her," Bucky said then frowned. "That sounds bad. That sounds really mean."

"It's not though. You're being honest with yourself and that's a good thing," Steve said. "Natasha will understand. You're not used to dealing with much more than me yet. We'll ease you into it."

"You're the best, you know that don't you?" Bucky smiled. "You want some help with lunch?"

"Yeah, that'd be good."


End file.
